


The Losers Meeting

by DeadManWalked



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Descriptions of Blood, F/M, Flashbacks, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, IT - Freeform, Injury, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, R-Rated Scooby Gang, Reddie, Scary, Slow Burn, Stenbrough, angst with happy ending, benverly - Freeform, big spooky, but some fluff, demonic god, fucked up stuff, gay repression, it chapter 2 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2020-10-13 20:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20588417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadManWalked/pseuds/DeadManWalked
Summary: What if: IT had come back after 10 years and the Losers defeated IT then? Stanley never commits suicide and instead joins them?Eddie lost his arm, but never died.Then, 2 years after they’ve defeated the monster that haunted their childhood they’re called by Stanley about a new monster that’s lurking in his hometown Marysville, Washington. The Losers Club is forced to reunite and take down this new creature before more people, including Stan, die.This story will emerge you in a questioning of reality, blossoming love stories, and a rated R version of what Scooby Gang and The Losers Club would be if it had a baby with the supernatural world.





	1. 12 Years

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to go ahead and make my next story IT based. I’ve never written a horror based story but I love Reddie and all the other potential this can bring. It will Have multiple chapters so be prepared for all the angst and slow burn and fluff you could imagine.  
However, in the future the story will also get more graphically gory and dark so beware.

_Summer of 1999_

_The losers all sat around Eddie's hospital bed after the 3rd surgery to fix his arm. The arm that It took away and that nearly took Eddie'a life as well. A week had passed without anymore incidences, no more missing children or hauntings. Now it was time for the losers, with exception to Mike, Richie, and Eddie, to head back to their old lives._

_Ben was back to his up and rising architectural company, which made him the most successful young architect in the states. Beverly was going with him, planning to start her own fashion company while at his side. Bill was heading back to his home in England to publish his 2nd book, the first one was so popular that the editing company was desperate for more. Stanley had a fiancé to get back to and an accountant job waiting._

_Richie was going to hold off the radio show until Eddie was better, or at least well enough to transfer to his home hospital. Mike has a home to pack and job to find. Things were all about to revert back to how they used to be, just with more traumatic memories._

_"Do you think we really did it, Bill? That we really killed It?" Stan asked._

_"Yeah, I think we did. What about you, Mikey? You think we won?"_

_Mike nodded, "We did what the ritual demanded. It's been a week, which means we ended the cycle again."_

_"Fuck the cycle. We were supposed to come back 27 years from then, but did we?" Richie mumbled, pushing up his glasses as he continued to watch Eddie breathe. "I'm never answering another call from you, by the way. You've lost that privilege."_

_"Beep Beep, Richie." Beverly said as she sat down besides Eddie. "Do you think we'll forget again? I don't want to forget you guys."_

_"I'm not sure, Bev. How about I call you all in a week to double check? It's gonna be awhile before I manage to move to Daytona and get settled." Mike suggested as he checked his watch. "Speaking of which, we gotta go now Bill before you miss your flight."_

_So they did. They bid the losers fair well and left. It didn't take long for the others to follow, Beverly and Ben had a flight to catch as well. Richie sat in a daze as they hugged him goodbye, watching as they did the same to the sleeping Eddie lying on the bed. Then it was just him and Stanley._

_"Eddie's going to be alright, Rich. The doctors said so themselves," Stan reassured him as he took a seat by his side. "Are you going to be?"_

_Richie forced a laugh and smile, "Course I am, Stan the Man. I've got smoking hot babes lined up back at home and a career that's skyrocketing. Fuck, I'm about to be too rich for you losers."_

_Stan sighed, shaking his head softly. Like Bill, Stanley always knew when Richie was lying and hiding behind his jokes. Just like he's always known about the feelings the two boys had for each other, even if they were too scared to say it._

_He saw Eddie wake Richie up from the dead lights with a kiss just like Ben and Beverly. The pure terror in Richie's eyes when It bit Eddie and almost killed him. He looked over to the sleeping man worriedly before standing because his flight to Washington was soon as well._

_"Take care of yourself, Richie."_

_"You too Stan. I'll see you around."_

* * *

June 21st, 2001

_Queens, New York_

"Eddie, did you take your vitamins today? Sydney from down the street lost her kidney because she didn't take her vitamins. Oh, don't forget about the b12, you know how much of a headache you get without it," Myra's shrilling voice said over the Audi's speakers.

Eddie sighed as he stared at his wedding band in contempt, "Yeah, because that's what gives me the headaches."

"You're not driving, are you? You know how I don't like you driving. The prosthetic isn't well enough for the proper reflexes, Eddie. You could get into a car crash!"

"Myra, I've been driving with this arm for over a year now. Statistically, there's a higher chance of me crashing because you're distracting me on the phone while I'm heading home."

"Eddie-"

The woman's shrill voice was interrupted by a new call. A call coming from someone that Eddie lost touch with months ago. _Stanley Uris_. Eddie felt blessed by this opportunity to escape, so he didn't bother saying goodbye before hanging up and answering the call.

"Hey Stan," Eddie said as he swerved abruptly into the next lane. He never did like driving.

"Hey Eddie," The other mans voice said, sounding tired. "I've got some bad news for you buddy."

Eddie felt his heart sink as that same feeling of fear washed over him like it did in the summer of 99. He said nothing, eyes glued to the prosthetic arm Mike built him, and tried not to scream.

"I'm calling The Losers Club back together."

_London, England_

"Mr. Denbrough, the work you've put out the last couple years have been amazing. The last two have been the highest selling horror stories in the world, sales are through the roof."

Bill sighed as he ran this hands though his hair, glaring down at the telephone, "Something tells me there's a 'but' about to follow up that statement, isn't there Mr. Wilson?"

"Look, Bill, I'm just saying that these past few books have all gotten the same critique. People don't like your endings-"

A new line rang in and interrupted the conversation. Bill didn't hesitate to end the call and answer this new one, despite not knowing who it was. A part of him wondered if it was the red-headed actress he'd met the previous week.

"This is Bill Denbrough," He said. 

"Billy, it's Stan."

A smile quickly replaced his frown as he leaned forward, pressing the phone closer to his ear and closing the laptop in front of him. He'd lost touch will all the others as his job consumed him, and hearing Stans voice brought back all those memories.

"God, its been a while hasn't it? Heard you've become rather successful in the accounting world. How's-"

"I'm afraid this isn't a pleasure call, Bill. I-I uh need...I'm in trouble. I'm calling a meeting, all of us."

Bill froze as a cold overcame him, "What's wrong, Stan? Is It back?"

"No, not It. Something worse."

_San Francisco, California_

"Babe, can you bring me a cola when you head back over here?" Beverly asked, laying out under the sun as the boat swayed gently over with the waves.

Ben grabbed a cola and his beer before walking back over and sitting down besides her, smiling at her basking in the sun. She thanked him softly, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to lay back with her.

"When I was a child, I never once pictured myself in a large boat with the man I love, living my life to the fullest," She told him, smile on the verge of sparkling.

"And I never saw myself on a large boat with the kindest and most beautiful woman in the world, yet here I am." Ben said as he kissed her softly, "Guess we both got lucky."

They were interrupted by the shrilling ring of his phone. He sat up and walked across the deck to get it, shocked by who's name popped up. 

"It's Stanley," He told Beverly as he rejoined her and answered, holding her hand as she sat up as well. After a second he put the phone on speaker so they both could hear.

"Hey guys," Stan's voice spoke up, small and fragile. "Sorry for calling, but I'm afraid I don't have much of a choice."

"Don't worry about it honey, what's the matter? You don't sound too good," Beverly said as she took the phone from Ben and held it closer.

"The Losers Club has to come back, Bev. You gotta come help me."

_Daytona, Florida_

Mike was walking around his workshop when his assistant came to him, telling him about an old friend on hold. A friend by the name of Stanley Uris. Mike all but ran across the wear-house to his office, picking the phone up before he was even sat down.

"Is It back?" He asked, desperate. He always knew that the day a loser reached out again after so long, it couldn't be anything but bad news. "Did we fail?"

"This isn't about Derry or It, Mike. It's about something else, something here in my town."

_Beverly Hills, California_

The live crowd cheered and clapped after Richie finished his bit, the camera feed cutting not long after. He was a fan favorite and reoccurring comedian on Saturday Night Live. Walking off stage Richie was quickly met by his assistant Maria, who handed him a phone and claiming the person on the other end 'sounded like a zombie'.

"This is Richie speaking, I'm guessing you're the zombie?" He said as he walked into his dressing room and poured himself a cup of bourbon. "Are you my mommy?" He asked in a child's voice, chucking to himself as he took a sip.

"No, Rich, I'm afraid not. Its me, Stan."

Richie pauses a moment, considering pretending like he didn't remember. With shaking hands he too a large gulp of the burning liquid to calm himself.

"Hey, Stan the Man. Haven't heard from you in a while. How's the wife?"

"You know why I'm calling, Richie."

"Oh my god, she's pregnant! Do I get to be Uncle Richie? Are you about to ask me to be the god father, because I'll have you—"

"I'm calling the Losers Club back again. It's not to Derry, but it's not gonna be good either."

"Fuck that. I love you, but I'm not doing shit. I'm tired of the monsters and the shit, okay? I'm not going to show up, Stan. Not this time."

"I'll message you the information. See you soon, Trashmouth."

Richie paused as he heard the line end, hands shaking madly as tears flooded his eyes. Then he grabbed the bottle of bourbon and began drinking it like water, as if he'd wake up the next day and forget everything all over again.

_Marysville, Washington_

Stanley sat alone at the large circular table centered in Papa Noel’s Pizzaria. This shop used to be the most popular place in town before the looming darkness washed over, now not enough people left their home to come by.

He checked his watch a fifth time before turning back to re-reorganize the small packages of sugar in the container at the center of the table. He finished within minutes and forced himself to push the container away, looking desperately towards the door for a familiar face. He wouldn’t blame the others if they didn’t show, after all there was no blood binding or promises.

The bell jingled to signal the arrival of a guest, so he stood quickly and walked over to greet them. It was Bill who arrived first, because of course it was. Big Bill, the leader of the losers club since 1985. Stanley didn’t hesitate before he threw himself against the other man, holding him in a tight desperate hug.

“I knew you’d come,” He whispered into the other mans shoulder.

Bill was taken aback by the action, but quickly hugged the smaller man back, “Yeah, Stan. Of course I did.”

The bell went off again and Stan forced himself to let go, taking a few steps back and wiping the tears with the back of his hands. Then he smoothed down his clothes and turned to the couple who entered, Ben and Beverly. Beverly was quick to hug him, pressing a firm kiss to his pale white cheek, while Ben walked over and patted his shoulder.

“Hey guys,” Stan said in a whispered laugh. “Oh, I chose this table over here for us to sit at. Wasn’t sure if you guys would show, so I haven’t ordered anything yet.”

“Don’t worry about it hun, I’ll go talk to the waitress and do it for you,” Beverly said softly as she pulled away.

The boys all turned towards the entrance when Eddie came walking in, fanny pack secured around his waistline and eyes wide upon seeing them. They tried not to stare at the black robotic prosthetic (the best prototype in the world thanks to Mike) and instead moved forward and greeted him.

“Fuck, you guys actually showed up. Not gonna lie Stan, I really wasn’t gonna do it until next thing I knew I was on a plane. I swear to fuck if I lose my other arm I’ll kill you myself,” Eddie rambled nervously, unconsciously rubbing he shoulder where metal met flesh.

“You look good, Eddie,” Ben chuckled.

“Says the fucking sculpted model man,” Eddie scoffed, running his eyes over the built body of Ben. “Do you eat bull for breakfast, I mean fuck you’re ripped.”

“He’s worked hard,” Beverly agreed as she moved forward and hugged Bill then Eddie. “But he gets shy, so go easy on him boys.”

“I think Ben can handle it,” Mike said as he walked in and joined them, whispering his greetings.

The waitress brought out the groups drinks and then 3 large pepperoni pizzas and one large cheese. They all sat around the table, gathering food on their plates and making small talk. They all fell into a smooth rhythm of conversation, as if they were friends who talked on a daily basis rather than during times of crisis.

“Do you think Richie will show up?” Ben asked, pointing out the obvious missing member. 

“If my wedding invitation is anything to go off, then no he won’t,” Eddie grumbled, reaching over and taking a large sip of cola.

“Congratulations by the way! I’m sorry we couldn’t make it, Ben was working on a project in Hong Kong and I had a runway. How’s Myra doing?” Beverly said, trying to diffuse the growing tension in the room.

“She’s—“

“Fuck, you assholes really showed up,” Richie announced upon arriving to the table.

Stanley smiled, standing and moving his chair so Richie could slip in next to him. He let out a big sigh of relief, especially since Richie was the only one he seriously doubted showing. After It, he was worried that Richie would never talk to any of them again.

“Nice of you to show up, dick. It only took you half an hour longer than he told you,” Eddie huffed from across the table.

Richie didn’t look up at the other man as he replied, “Sorry I’m late kiddos, seems like not all flights were set to arrive at the same time. Nice to see all of you turned out fucking gorgeous, so what the fuck happened to me?”

“We missed you too, Rich,” Mike laughed.

The group became lost in conversation again, talking about job projects and relationships. It felt as if time had repeated itself again, replaying the events of two years prior when the club united to take on It. Laughing and joking, only alcohol was replaced with beer and fortune cookies with bread sticks.

“Hey Eds, whats it like being married to your mom?” Richie asked, pretending to be serious.

“Fuck you! What are you laughing at Denbrough? You can go fuck yourself and maybe you’ll figure out how to finish something properly,” Eddie snapped, face growing red with embarrassment.

“That reminds me, Eds. What’s it like fucking a walrus?”

Richie was answered by a breadstick to the face and two middle fingers flipping him off. He laughed either way, alongside the others at the table who tried to stifle their humor unsuccessfully. Richie couldn’t help himself from saying these things despite the fact that the glinting ring in Eddies hand actually caused him great pain. A reminder of why he’ll never get the love he craved for so often in return, of why he’ll be alone and lost in random sex and booze for the rest of his life.

Luckily his dark thoughts were greeted with the fall in the air when Stanley confessed something they never saw coming. His confession reminded them all of why they were called here, why the losers had to reunite. They had all felt it from the moment they arrived to Marysville, the cold dark presence of fear and death that seemed to cling to their skin. Stanley Uris said,

“Patty’s dead.”

Patty they all knew was his wife, Patricia. The woman he met in college and married before It came back. They’d never gotten the chance to meet her, though they saw many photos of their life together. Stanley had chosen to call them all there a week after the death of his wife and the day of her funeral.

His town had been drowning in a darkness for a month prior to that. Men, Women, and children had all gone missing for days before their body would be found stranded and grey as a stormy sky. After the first few missing cases and deaths, Stanley figured it was a killer. However, by the time the beast that’s been lurking in the shadows of Maryville had captured Patty nearly 20 people had died. 

“I told myself it was impossible, that another creature like It was never going to arise here. There’s no history of this thing like there was of It and Pennywise. This just came out of nowhere,” Stan told them, eyes glued to his wedding ring. “That’s why I didn’t call before, because I told myself it was impossible.”

“Is it like It was?”

He shook his head, “No...This is much worse. It was an otherworldly being that only preyed on children and was restrained to the reach of Derry’s pipes. This thing goes after anyone it can, driving them into insanity slowly by presenting their worst fears and using that as a way to...its like it consumes their souls.”

“Oh fuck me,” Richie whispered to himself, wishing he had a bottle of vodka.

“You guys have to understand, this isn’t the same type of visions that It showed us. This is more than that, it actually transforms what’s real and what isn’t. It knows your deepest secrets and darkest fears, but can also show you your greatest desires and dreams...that’s how it got Patty. It made her believe she was pregnant, since we’d tried for so long and it never worked.”

“What’s it called?” Beverly asked, reaching out to hold Bens hand as comfort.

“I’ve been calling it Dybbuk, after a Jewish folklore of a demonic creature that possesses a person and feeds off their souls. That’s basically what this creature has become,” He told her.

“So you called us here to kill a fucking demon without any idea of what this fucker is or how to kill it?” Eddie exclaimed, eyes wide in horror. “How the fuck do we know if this is even real or if it’s some illusion?”

Stanley looked around at them all, “We don’t.”


	2. First Encounters

_Fall of 1989_

_Derry, Maine_

_"Now that Bill's gone everything's changed," Stan said as they all sat around the clubhouse._

_He was the only one left wearing the shower caps, perhaps due to the new sense of maturity that the school year and killing a monster brought. Perhaps something as silly as spiders weren't worth fearing after they've taken on an otherworldly being. He felt the distance between the group growing with the absence of their leader...it felt that their previous promise to always be friends was quickly being broken._

_Beverly hummed, "I can't wait to leave this town. I think I'll go to New York or maybe California."_

_"Hate to break it to you, Bev, but I don't think you'll be leaving anytime soon. I think all of us are going to grow old and die here," Richie said as he laid across the hammock. His voice quickly formed into a mock of an old southern man, "'round these here parts ain't nobody leave. My daddy and ma dads daddy all done worked here, plowing the fields until they dropped dead from boredom."_

_"I want to go to Florida, someday. Or maybe Hawaii. I've never seen the ocean before," Mike adds in, voice distant as if lost in a dream. "Maybe I'll have my own boat."_

_Stanley couldn't help the sadness that grew inside him as they all continued to talk about where they'd go. Where they'd leave. It seems that they all couldn't wait to grow up and leave Derry, almost as if the idea of staying there was unbearable. But with moving cane distance and with distance came losing touch...he didn't want to lose touch._

_"I don't think my mom will ever let me leave," Eddie said, drawing red flames on his cast. "I could never get on a plane. I'd fucking die, do you know how many planes crash—"_

_"The chances of a plane crashing isn't actually that high, Eddie," Ben said as he continued to do his homework. "You're much more likely to get into a car crash on the way to the airport."_

_Eddie went pale at the thought, looking up with big beaded eyes full of shock. It seems his mother purposely avoided the facts of the dangers behind driving, which she hid in order to keep him from running away from her car on their way to an appointment. It seems that his mother kept more hidden from him that he could've imagined._

_"Don't worry, Eddie Spaghetti. It could be worse, you could get that ass disease going around."_

_"Fuck you, Richie. I'm not gay."_

_Both boys looked at each other, and hiding behind their eyes wasn't humor or annoyance. It was an underlying fear. The fear that came with the fact that they just might be gay, which means they might already be sick. They might already be everything that Henry Bowers and the rest of the world called them, or worse._

_"It's okay, Eds, I'll still love you even if you like boys." Richie said, making a kissy face before Eddie moved over and flipped him out of the hammock._

_Though the meaning behind Richie's words were so much more than a joke, even if that's how he said it. Then again, that's always how Richie says things he actually means._

* * *

Richie didn't pack much so it didn't take him long to settle down in the hotel room, but he waited inside quietly until he heard Ben and Beverly leave their room to head to the next meeting stop; Stanley's home. Bill and Mike had stayed at a hotel down the street so soon it was only Eddie and himself left.

A part of him thinks he stayed behind on purpose, as an excuse to be alone with Eddie like he used to come up with so often as a child. He hates that the habit hasn't been broke after all this time, especially since he's purposely avoided the other man. Purposely avoided him after receiving that wedding invitation last year.

Now he had no choice.

Richie sighed deeply before leaving the room and going to the other side, knocking to a random rhythm. He could faintly hear the call to enter, so he swung the door open and leaned against the frame, eyes glued to the suitcase full of medicine lying next to the one full of clothes.

"Jesus, Eds, did you mom come back from the fucking dead?" He asked, gesturing to the bottles. "Or are you dying of every cancer in the world?"

Eddie blushed slightly, having expected Beverly instead of Richie. He was ashamed at the relapse that's happened since It, how he allowed himself to be swayed back into old habits. At first his dying mother was enough to force him into doing whatever was asked, plagued with a guilt. Then it was Myra, who took her place when he married her.

"Fuck yourself, Trashmouth. I-It's just a precaution, ya know how easy I get sick when I'm in a new place. Besides, most of these are vitamins because unlike you, I give a shit about my health."

Richie couldn't even bring himself to laugh. He just nodded slightly, eyes moving off the pills and to Eddie himself. The man hasn't changed much since he last saw him, still pale and flimsy as ever. His hair is shorter now and was styled differently, in a way that suited him much more. Richie hates how he still found everything about him attractive.

"I'd give my congratulations on the marriage," Richie said (_but I'm not happy_, he thought),"But seeing as you fucked off and married an elephant if it gave birth to a whale-"

"I haven't seen or heard from you since my mothers funeral, and this is our first conversation?" Eddie asked, anger in his tone but hurt in his heart. "Stop being such a cunt."

"Easy there, badass. I was just fucking around." Richie said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Hurry up before we're late."

Only before either men had a chance to move, the world suddenly went dark. Everywhere they looked there was blackness, even as they brought their own hands up and closer to their face.

"Holy Shit!"

"What the fuck?!?"

•••

Beverly and Ben walked hand in hand down the sidewalk as they headed towards Stanley’s house. They were quiet, but their minds were both focused on the same thing. The fact that there was no children playing on the playground they passed, despite it being a sunny day. The lack of customers in stores as they walked past restaurants and boutiques. The fact that only a single car had driven by in the past 10 minutes of their journey, racing by as if in a rush to get home...or to get away.

“It’s a ghost town,” Beverly whispered to him, chills springing across her skin despite the heat.

“It’s like Derry all over again,” He agreed, pulling her closer in case something happened. “God, this is insane. Seeing the others again, being back in the same situation as before...”

“I missed them more than I realized,” She confessed. “Even Richie and his jokes. I can’t believe we all lost touch with each other after the last fight...Maybe we should’ve tried harder.”

“It’s not our fault, Bev. I don’t think any of us were expecting to grow apart but it happens to everyone.”

“It shouldn’t have happened to us!” She exclaimed, pulling them both to the stop. “Not after everything we’ve been through together time after time. Maybe if we never allowed ourselves to run away from one another, then maybe Stan’s wife never would’ve been killed.”

“Hey,” Ben whispered softly, cupping her face in his hands. “There’s nothing anyone could’ve done. What matters is we’re here now and we’re going to help him, alright?”

She nodded weakly before he pulled her in for a tight embrace. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to become lost in him, as she always had. The comfort and love that Ben gave her ever since they were children was something that she could always depend on to save her from herself. Which is why when she felt herself being pulled away from him, panic was soon to replace that comfort.

“Ben?” She called, opening her eyes to watch him being pulled in the opposite direction. 

“Beverly!” He screamed, fighting against the invisible force unsuccessfully.

Their feet remained glued to the cement below their feet, the ground moving rapidly in different directions. The whipping wind slapped harshly across their skin, drowning out their screams until they couldn’t even tell if they were making noise at all. Suddenly they came to an abrupt stop that sent them flying backwards, knocking the air from their lungs upon impact.

Beverly looked around and found herself standing outside her old apartment building, just outside the entrance doors with the mailbox labeled Marsh. Her heart plummeted into her stomach, which in turn sent hot acidic puke up her throat until she swallowed it back.

“Daddy,” She whispered.

“Hello Bevy,” a whisper said against the back of her hair. The whisper of her father.“I’ve missed you.”

•••

Bill looked around Stanley’s living room while the other man excused himself to make them coffee. He ran his hands against the alphabetical organized book stems on the shelf’s, eyes roaming over the clean shelves and perfectly placed decorations. His fingers graced a particularly familiar stem that grabbed his attention.

It was his first published book. _The Tragedy Of Carrie_.

Bill’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, pulling the book from the shelf to look at it more clearly. He never thought that any of his friends cared enough to read his novels, let alone the very first one. The paperback stem was wrinkled and worn down from use, almost as if it had been read a dozen times over the past couple years.

“I’ve got them all,” Stanley confessed, startling Bill, as he moved to join him. “Read them all...they’re my favorite novels.”

“I th-thought you didn’t like horror stories,” Bill said as he slipped the book back into place and grabbed the mug. 

“I don’t.”

“Then why—“

“You wrote them, Bill.” Stanley said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He moved to sit down and waited as Bill joined him. They looked around at the perfectly clean and organized house, but the cold and unforgiving home. All Stanley could feel was the absence of his wife, the lost echo of her laugh ringing in his mind but never to be heard again. His right hand was rotating the golden band on his left finger as he forced back his tears.

Bill felt the sorrow too. It felt like his home after Georgie’s disappearance, like it was wasting away in death and depression. His heart went out for the man beside him, so he went ahead and tried to comfort him the only way he could. He wrapped his arm around Stan’s shoulder and pulled him closer until he could rest his forehead against curly brown hair. 

“I’m so s-sorry,” Bill whispered to him.

“Are you, Billy?”

Stan’s voice was suddenly smaller and higher pitched. It was the voice of a small child full of anger and fear. Bill froze, pulling back only to see that it wasn’t Stan he was holding but someone smaller. A boy.

Georgie.

•••

Mike drove his rental car in silence, letting his mind wind rapidly over the situation they’re in again. He thought over the research he’d done all those years ago that lead him to the Ritual of Chüd, which helped defeat It. After they found out more information from Stan, he decided he would have to stop by the local library to see if there was something similar for this Dybbuk.

Suddenly the car sputtered to a stop in the center of the road, smoke seeping from the hood in front of him. He sighed deeply and unbuckled, reaching for the door handle only for it to remain closed. Trying again to no avail, the smoke in front of him multiplied in tenfold and began entering the car through the air vents.

Coughing slightly Mike pushed a rag up to his nose as he began kicking against the window, desperation growing despite his determination to remain calm. The harder he kicked the stronger the glass became and the more smoke filtered into the car. A large burst of fire erupted from the engine.

Mike reached for his phone and dialed 911, pressing it to his ear as he listened to it ring. The tone continued on until soon he had no choice but to toss it aside, coughing harder now, and banged against the windows.

“Help!”

•••

“Richie, I can’t fucking see! What the shit, what the hell happened?! Richie! I—“

“Calm the fuck down, Eddie!” Richie yelled over him. “It’s gotta be that butang thing, right? Just walk towards my voice.”

“I think he said it was Dybbuk.”

“Who gives a shit? Are you coming or not?”

Eddie walked slowly, feeling his way around the edge of the bed. It felt harder and further as he walked without sight, as if the room was ten times larger than it had been before. He could hear Richie just as clearly as before but it felt as if a mountain was between them. His hands were held out in front of him as he walked like Frankenstein’s monster.

Something brushed his foot, causing him to yell out and scramble backwards, which in turn sent him falling back into the dressed. He cried out in pain as the stem stabbed his spine. A string of profanities spilled from his lips as he tried not to collapse completely.

“What the fuck is going on? Eddie? Are you okay?” Richie asked, shuffling forward cautiously. “Are you dead?”

“No,” Eddie groaned as he regained his footing and started forward again. “I think it was just a bag or something.”

Richie rolled his eyes and reached out randomly in search of the other man. His hands flailed around in the dark wildly before making impact with Eddie’s face, causing them both to yell out again in a brief moment of panic.

Richie reached out again and grabbed hold of Eddie’s shoulders. He pulled him closer until he reached down to his arms until their fingers met. A sudden overwhelming sense of longing overcame the previous fear in him and when he blinked again he was greeted with sight again. The light was invasive but he laughed out with joy, glad to see his surroundings again.

“I did it, Eds! Suck that you fucking fuck!” Richie shouted at the air around him.

“What? What happened?”

“I can see again. I’m not sure how but...god I’ve never been so happy to see your ugly face.”

“Fuck you too, asshole.”

Richie looked around the room, as if a magical pill for a blind cure would pop up, before settling for the fact that he would have to help Eddie by himself. He squeezed the mans clammy hands in comfort, though it was more for himself than for Eddie.

Eddie blushed slightly at the connection, suddenly glad for the darkness keeping him from making eye contact. A sense of nostalgia mixed with his fear, as the memories of their times together as children came back to him. With that came those terrible feelings, the bursting butterflies in his stomach, that he felt.

“Alright, Eds, it looks like I’m your eyes for the moment. I’m going to help guide you to my car and hopefully we can figure this shit out at Stan’s,” Richie exclaimed as he began to slowly pull Eddie along with him and outside the room.

“Ah!” Eddie shouted, “What the shit is that?”

“A door.”

•••

Ben found himself walking the halls of his old High School, the one he attended in Colorado after he moved freshman year. It was the place of his second most torment, where all the students were different versions of Henry Bowers. A place where he found himself alone again, his only friends thousands of miles away. He began to run, calling out for Beverly, but the hall never came to an end.

Minutes turned into hours as he ran as fast as he could. It became harder to breathe and move. When he stopped and allowed himself to look down, he found himself 200 pounds heavier and a foot shorter. The longer he stood still the thicker he got, skin stretching and folding over itself. He yelled out while trying to move but his skin began to mold into the floor like slop.

Beverly stood in front of her childhood apartment complex shaking madly as tears dropped off her cheeks. Her fathers firm hand was locked in the creek between her neck and shoulder, squeezing tightly in a silent threat. His other hand was playing with the hair resting against her back.

“You’re dead,” She whispered weakly.

“I could never leave you, Bevy. I love you so much and you know how much I worry,” He said. “It’s such a shame you didn’t love me. You ran away from me, Beverly. You were a very bad girl.”

“You scared me, daddy.”

“I took care of you!” He yelled, raising his hands until they wrapped around her neck from behind. “You were ungrateful!”

Beverly could feel his hands begin to tighten around her neck, but an anger replaced her fear. “And you were a piece of shit!”

Her hands reached behind her until he found his eyes and dug her fingers into them. He cried out and let go of her. She fell roughly into the concrete, looking up and seeing that she was back where she had been with Ben. Turning around she found that her father wasn’t there, though his lingering presence remained. Her hand raised and felt the bruising skin on her neck.

Ben felt his body melting into the floor of the hallway until the line between skin and tile became lost. He began to cough as hot grease filled his lungs, the lingering taste of fast food coming up with each drowning breath. His eyes locked on the red roof above him, sparking a memory of gorgeous red hair. _Your hair is winter fire..._

He became lost in the red paint until suddenly everything else melted away. The pain was replaced with hot summer air and humidity. Beverly interrupted that paint as she kneeled over him, hands immediately on his shoulders as she pulled him up. He was back to himself now, free from the weight of the world.

“Beverly,” He sighed in relief.

•••

“You’re not r-real,” Bill said confidently, pushing his little brother back and retreated off the couch. “Yo-u are dead and ha-have been for a while now.”

“What are you talking about, Bill?” The boy asked, smile slipping off his face. “I’ve been waiting for you to get home so we could play Hide-and-Seek like you promised. Remember? You said after the doctors appointment we could play.”

“You’re n-not real, Geor-gie.”

The little boy began to cry, suddenly afraid of why his big brother was acting so weird. Bill looked down and found that he was 14 again, wearing the same clothes as the day before Georgie disappears. The day of his doctors appointment. He shook his head in confusion, but his attention was quickly pulled back to the little crying boy as he grabbed Bill’s hand. 

“You’re scaring me, Billy. I just wanted to play,” He cried. “If you don’t feel good, we don’t have to. Please don’t be mad at me, Billy.”

Bill couldn’t help but think of just how much this was like Georgie. In fact, it was almost the exact same thing the boy had said when he refused to play that day. Bill looked around only to see that he wasn’t in Stan’s house any longer, but his own. The childhood home he grew up in.

“I-it’s okay, Georgie. I’m not m-mad.” Bill said as he knelt down, wiping the boys tears. “We can still play.”

It’s exactly what he wished he said that day. That day when he was sick but not to the point that he really couldn’t play. The next day when he told Georgie he wasn’t ready to play and then Georgie disappeared. The dozens of times before that inevitable event. All he wants to do now is go back and play with his little brother one last time.

Georgie giggles before grabbing Bill’s hands and using them to cover his eyes. Those were always the rules. Then he ran off, little steps padding across the hard wood as he went up the stairs. Bill began to count to 20 slowly, sobbing out each number.

“19, 20! Ready or not...” he paused, wiping his tears but keeping his eyes closed. Three words and he could do it, he could get that last chance to play.

Instead he opened his eyes and was staring at Stan’s copy of his book. He flipped to a random page and read the first three words. _Here I come_. His tear fell onto the paper and darkened that small area. Stanley approaches with the coffee, but pauses when he sees the other man crying.

“What’d you see, Bill?”

•••

“Holy Shit!” Richie exclaimed as he abruptly stopped his car in the center of the road, eyes wide at the sight in front of him. “I think that’s Mikes car on fire.”

“It’s on what?!” Eddie yelled, looking around with wide but unseeing eyes.

Richie didn’t respond but instead rushed out of his car and towards the one in front of him. The entire front was aflame, smoke surrounding the area, and Mikes face laid flush against the window. He’d passed out from the smoke inhalation. Richie began to kick desperately at the window after the door handle remained locked.

“I can’t get it, Eddie! Fuck, I can’t fucking help him,” Richie cried out, punching the glass until his knuckles split. “Mike! Somebody help me!”

Eddie’s heart beat harshly inside him as Richie’s cries flooded his ears and the smell of smoke infiltrated his nostrils. He slowly unbuckled himself and crawled out of the car, hands searching the ground for guidance. A smooth round metal met his hand as he made it halfway to Richie. He paused to feel around it before becoming amazed at the fact that it felt like a baseball bat. He stood up and walked until he stood relatively close to Richie.

“Eddie, you gotta get back before you get hurt.” Richie said, half his efforts devoted to pushing Eddie behind him while the other focused on the slowly cracking window.

“I got a bat!” Eddie shouted before pushing Richie behind him and swinging.

The first swing missed completely. He sighed and poked the bat out until he felt it impact the window. The heat of the flames rushed over his side, but he ignored it and swung again. Then again and again. His sight flooded back to him the second the last impact broke through the glass. 

Richie rushed forward and together they helped pull Mike out of the window and towards the curb. The second they hit the sidewalk, the car burst in an explosion and sent small shreds of glass around them. Richie reached out and covered Eddie from the explosion, who in turn had covered Mike.

“Next time, give the person with sight the bat,” Richie coughed, pulling Mike up and checking his pulse.

“How about not having a next time?” Eddie groaned.

They both looked at the burning remains of the car in front of them and reality dawned on them. This wasn’t like It. This was something that could catch cars on fire, blind you, or do something else. The whole time you’ll never know whether it’s real or not...

The steady beating of Mikes pulse was the only thing keeping them both centered in that moment, alongside the distant sounds of wailing sirens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it begins! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, I really had fun coming up with some creepy visions that also have a great reflection on the characters. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
> 
> Ps. After this there will be no more of Beverly’s dad because he’s a total asshole and creep who I hate writing. I just felt like it was necessary at the start to show his impact on her life, but also to show how she’s overcoming it.


	3. Sleep Tight

Mike had to stay in the hospital overnight to ensure his injuries weren't worse than they seemed, but the next morning at sunrise he was free to go. The rest of the losers, shaken from the days events, had stayed at Stanley's until then. Nobody said anything, but the fear and tension was thick in the air. Suffocating.

This morning, with Mike back amongst the group, they all sat around the living room in silence. Most of them sipped their coffee despite it having grown cold (Eddie and Beverly had tea). It was as if they were waiting in a silent dare that asked the question of "who will speak first?" Nobody was ready to take that first step, Stanley was the only one that saw nothing the previous day. One by one the members slowly looked to their leader, as if back in the clubhouse of 1989, and waited for him to tell his story first.

Just like they did with It.

"It was Georgie," Bill said, swallowing his nerves. "The day before he was taken by It. When I was sick and he wanted to p-play Hide and seek."

"These monsters really need new tricks," Richie grumbled.

"But it—I don't think it was a trick. Not really...more like a memory from a different life. It wasn't like it had been with Pennywise because I wasn't scared, I was hopeful."

"Lucky you," Mike groaned, chest still burning with the remembrance of smoke. "But I agree with Bill. It's not the same as It, because I nearly died. My car actually caught fire and there wasn't a clown around...there wasn't anything."

Richie took a large sip of his cold coffee (mixed with vodka secretly) and nodded. It's Tricks weren't nearly the same, because they were aimed at children. Only certain people could see those illusions and be affected by them. Like Beverlys bathroom that day in '89. It was real...but not really. Not like a car catching fire in the middle of the road where anyone can see.

"This knows things about us that nobody possibly could," Ben said. "But, like It could. This took me back to my high school after I moved...nobody here could possibly know about that but myself. Every detail was the same."

"I was sent back home," Beverly chimed it. "To the apartment complex my father and I lived in...well before I ran away when I was 16. My father was there, too."

Ben reached over and grabbed her hand, rubbing it softly as a reminder that she's not alone. The others always knew, especially with It, that Beverlys father wasn't a good one. He was abusive and horrible, but only Ben knew the extent. He's the only one she ever fully confided in, even when things got harder to remember.

"Not us," Eddie spoke up. "Richie and I had the same thing happen. We were both blinded, though it was only a minute or so before he broke free of the trance. I wasn't free until I had to help save Mike."

"Wait," Bill said as he looked up with a sudden intensity, "You broke free of it that qu-quickly?"

Richie nodded, shrugging at the fact. It wasn't that hard for him to understand that he wasn't really blind too soon after it all happened. The only time he's been blind was without his glasses or with that one kinky LA girl he slept with a few months ago. The logic mixed with the proximity of Eddie in that moment was enough for him to know it wasn't real.

"Why was Richie able to overcome what the Dybbuk presented so must faster than we could?" Ben asked, picking up on what Bill was thinking.

"Must be my big dick energy. Guess I'm just blessed," Richie said as he winked cockily. "I would make the whole 'must be because I'm not a Virgin' joke, but let's be real we all know Bev and Ben rock their boat on the daily."

"Or maybe it's because you have no soul, asshole," Eddie suggested, reaching out and slapping Richie's forehead.

"Maybe Richie's already accepted the darkest parts of him and didn't need to fight back...or didn't want to," Stanley said, successfully sucking the humor out of the conversation.

His eyes lingered knowingly on Richie's, staring past the facade and into the truth. The truth that Richie is the only one out of them all who didn't bounce back after It. While they all might have lost touch, he never stopped keeping tabs on those he loved most. Richie, who let himself get lost in the booze, drugs, and sex in order to push down the inner dread left behind from those days of It. The only one still stuck in the pain, fear, and darkness that It brought 2 years prior.

It was all over the news and tabloids if you paid enough attention. Articles about his near overdose in January, his failed attempts at rehab, and the new flings he was seen with at different bars every night. He was well enough, or at least funny enough, to hide behind his booming career and get away with the scandals without much notice. It seemed Hollywood and traumatic experience didn't mix well for the current Richie Tozier.

"What's he talking about, Rich?" Eddie asked, confusion and concern slathered on his face.

"Not a fucking clue, Spaghetti Head," Richie lied, "Maybe I just got good at seeing past demonic bullshit with my past experience and all, eh Stan? Anyways, what the shit do we do now?"

"Rest," Beverly said in response. "None of us had proper sleep last night, especially since we were all worried about you Mike. Let's all split into the different rooms and settle down, clear our heads maybe."

"We can talk more over dinner," Stan agreed. "I'll tell you everything I know and then we can make a game plan."

Stanley's house wasn't like the others, meaning it didn't show off his success and great fortune like theirs did. It was a house that was meant to become a home, a moderate 2 story with only 3 rooms and 2 bathrooms. It was wonderfully beautiful and comfortable, but not extravagant. Steve showed Eddie and Richie to their room first, which was currently fashioned as a small office/spare room. 

"Sorry, there's only one bed," Stanley explained as he helped with the last of Eddie's bags.

He wasn't really sorry, because he really hoped that if nothing else came out of this trip then at least the boys would mend their broken friendship. Or perhaps, act on those secret feelings he knows are still lingering beneath the surface. His wife was a large fan of these two trouble makers anytime he would recall a childhood memory, so perhaps he was doing it for her as well.

Eddie and Richie groaned, a mixture of embarrassment and nervousness at the idea of sharing a bed. Of course the first thing they did was start arguing over who would be forced to sleep on the floor, leaving Stan to keep walking with the others to the next room with a small shake of his head.

Eddie opened the light purple door to reveal an unfinished nursery, reinforcing his sorrow. Beverly and Ben walked in after him, eyes looking around the pastel room. The walls were painted a light yellow, the start of floral decorations displayed in a series of green stems. There was a half finished crib in the left corner of the room with a large teddy bear leaning against it.

"Like I said, we were planning on starting a family," Stan said softly, moving to pull the air mattress out of the closet. "She really thought she was—and if she wasn't, the plan was to try and adopt by the end of summer."

"You would've been a wonderful father, Stan."

"Yeah," he whispered brokenly. "Anyways, here's the bed. It's not much...we didn't have visitors often. If you need anything else, I'll be right down the hall." 

Before they could respond, Stanley rushed out of the room and closed the door shut behind him. His heart was pounding in his chest and he forced his tears down, looking up to see Bill standing in the hallway and looking at him with concern. Stan forced himself to stand properly, readjusting his clothes, and nodded as he walked on to the final room. His room.

"Hey," Bill said as he went to meet the frazzled man sitting on his bed, "Are you alright?"

"As much as i could be," Stan said. "This is where we will be staying, but there's also only one bed. I figured Mike should have the couch downstairs to himself, since he's hurt."

"Yeah, don't worry about it Stan. I don't mind, I-it will be like our old s-sleep overs."

"Your stutter is back."

Bill nodded, laying down on his side with exhaustion. He'd been free of his stutter part way through high school until It came back. Then he was free afterwards until now. It felt as though his stutter was forced into activity by a state of doom and fear. Like he would never truly be free of it, no matter what he did to fix it.

"Get some rest, Stan. You really need it."

So he did.

They all fell asleep minutes after laying down, almost as if the darkness grabbed hold of them and pulled them down with it. It was a lurer that they didn't want to resist, so they didn't. However, that sweet darkness was soon replaced with something else. Something worse.

_Mike..._

Opened his eyes to find himself back on his bed from home, black and white comforter covering his body to trap the warmth. The whirring of the fan over head filled the silence alongside the soft breathing of the woman curled against his chest. He kisses her forehead before sneaking out of the bed as to not wake her.

The woman was white with soft blonde hair. Something about her seemed...wrong. Like she was a stranger and not his wife. He shook his head, dismissing the thought to something caused by his tired state, and went on to prepare for the day. As he made his way downstairs his phone went off, the name Bill Denbrough filled the screen.

"Big Bill," Mike laughed as he sat down in his living room. "It's been a while since we last talked."

"Sorry about that, been drowning in the latest book I've been working on. These publishers are a pain in my ass," Bill said from the other side. "I've been thinking about writing about killing It."

"Which time?"

A pause then, "What do you mean, Mikey? The only time, way back when we were 14 in 89'. What other time would I be talking about?"

That didn't seem right to him again, but mike simply shook it off again. He must've imagined that there was another time, like a bad dream or something. Of course they killed It when they were children, back when Bill had a stutter and Richie was bad at his voices. They continued to talk some more before the sound of footsteps descending alerted him that his wife was awake.

"The missus is up, so I'll talk to you tomorrow," Mike said.

Bill bid him goodbye by the time the woman had made it to his side, kissing him softly on his cheek. Mike smiled and turned, capturing her lips between his own in turn. There was something foreign about the feeling, as if it wasn't right. Like he was kissing the wrong lips of the wrong woman. He pulled back, unsure of why, and stood awkwardly.

"Just remembered we needed some milk," He said as a poor excuse. "I'm gonna head to the grocery story, alright sugar?"

"Sugar?" She laughed. "Since when do you call me sugar?"

Mike pauses, finding himself unfamiliar with the woman's voice or laugh. He found himself sweating, eyes jittering, and his hands shaking. He shook his head, trying to figure out what was wrong but finding no solution.

"I meant, are we alright with sugar or do I need to buy more."

"We don't ever use sugar, honey." She responded, but he was already out the door by the time she finished the sentence.

Turning around Mike found himself standing outside of the grocery marts doors, which opened automatically for him. His phone started to buzz so he pulled it out and answered, not bothering to look at the caller ID as he entered.

"Mikey, mi amor, the love of my life, my baby daddy," Richie exclaimed loudly from the speakers, "How's it been bud? I feel like it's been a whole 25 hours since we last talked."

"You say that like it's an odd thing, Richie."

"Um...because it is? You always call at least 2 times a day to check up on each of us losers. You're worse than my mom was before she did the dead a couple years back."

"Oh, right. Sorry Rich, guess I've been busy."

Mike walked randomly through the aisles as he listened to the other man rant about some woman that he slept with. He kept going on and on about how she was too impatient for him to get properly turned on to have sex, though Mike wondered if he detected something else amongst that annoyance.

"No offense, Rich, but why aren't you talking to Eddie about this? He is your best friend and I have no idea what to tell you about your dick malfunction." Mike said as he pulled to a stop, staring at a red balloon in confusion. That was the first thing that's felt familiar since waking up.

The line went deathly silent a moment before Richie spoke up, but his voice was harshly cold, "Why the fuck would you say that?"

"What do you mean?"

"That's not fucking funny, asshole!" Richie yelled through the other side, voice so loud that Mike flinched. "That's fucked up."

"What the fuck did I do? I just told you to talk to Eddie."

"Eddie's dead, remember? He's been fucking dead for years, since It... Go to hell, Mike."

The line went dead, a tone emitting to remind him that there wasn't anyone listening on the other side anymore. Mike stared at his phone as he stumbled backwards, the cold words of the other man still echoing in his ears. It felt wrong, but somehow the way that the man had said it was so serious that it couldn't have been anything but true.

"Excuse me," A voice said from behind him, drawing him back to reality.

He turned and found a tall black woman looking at him, her hair large in a natural Afro. She was beautiful, he noticed. Another sense of familiarity washed over him, stronger than the balloon behind him. Stronger than the kiss of the woman who was his wife...

"You're blocking the aisle," she continued, voice strong but kind.

"Don't I know you?" Mike asked, ignoring what she said. "You look really familiar."

"Sorry, suga, but we've never met before. I've gotta get to the balloons behind you, so if you don't mind."

Suddenly a loud pop sounded off behind him, sounding like the word Sugar, and he found himself drowning in the darkness again. That woman, he knew in this new peace, was his real wife. That woman was his wife. He kept repeating it to himself, in case he opened his eyes and found himself having forgotten again.

_Stan..._

woke up in a blackened room to the sound of wailing. The child monitor sat on the nightstand, 5 bars growling bright green to indicate the level of loudness the child was permitting. He groaned, rubbing his eyes as he lazily stumbled out of bed and into the hallway.

He found himself standing in front of the crib, rocking it lazily and his other hand rubbed the babies chest. She was sick, he knew, and ran hot. He began humming a random lullaby thoughtlessly until the baby went quiet and fell back to sleep.

Despite his exhaustion, he smiled as he snuck quietly out of the room. His eyes adjusted to the darkness so that he could see the name _Dorothy_ painted on the pale yellow door. He turned around and found himself back in his bed, curled up against his love, and waking to the rising sun of the new day.

"Good Morning, Beautiful," Stan whispered huskily, pressing a soft kiss to her hair as she laid on his chest.

"Morning, my love."

Patty turned to press a kiss to his lips before soft cries of Dorothy interrupted them. She sighed exasperated and pulled away, moving to go handle it before he could even suggest doing it instead. He turned to the landline phone and pressed in the numbers he knew so well.

The phone rang three times before someone answered.

"This is Bill Denbrough speaking," the man said, voice strong and confident.

"Hey Billy, it's me Stan."

"Stan? I'm afraid I don't know anyone named Stan, perhaps you have the wrong number?"

"Stanley Uris, from Derry Maine? Come on, Bill, you know me."

"I left Derry when I was born. Look, buddy, I'm sorry but this is the wrong number. Have a nice day."

Before Stanley could respond the line went dead, leaving him alone again. He shook his head and walked out of the room, only to find himself on the couch downstairs, wife sitting as she breast fed the baby.

"What's the matter darling?"

"Do you remember me talking about my old friend, Bill Denbrough?"

She shook her head, "No honey, I've never heard that before. You've talked about your old friend Henry Bowers plenty though."

Stan blinked, but said nothing as he shook his head. Maybe that's who he was thinking of, this Henry Bowers. He looked down at the nearest counter and found a book on it, a novel he bought the other day, and on the stem was the name. Bill Denbrough. He shook his head at his idiocy and put the book back on the shelf.

"How's our little angel?" Stan asked, moving to sit beside them both.

"Her temperature has dropped, but she's still running a little too hot. Doctor said to give it a few days."

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" He asked, smiling widely. "Your red hair is starting to show up, I bet she'll have it."

"Red hair?" Patty asked in confusion, "honey, I have brown hair like you do."

He turned and saw that she was right, her hair a dark chocolate and not anywhere close to the bright red hair he was thinking of. Hair like Beverly Marsh or Bill Denbrough. No, Patty's hair was as dark as dirt.

"Right," He said as he shook his head, "I meant brown. Sorry, I'm still half asleep I think. Getting all the things mixed up this morning."

He looked down at the baby and realized he'd made another mistake. He had thought her eyes were as blue as Bill's were, but they were such a dark brown they were nearly black. Shaking his head to himself, Stanley stood and walked into the kitchen. He looked down at the high chair by the table and realized something.

"This isn't real," he sighed, looking back at the two beautiful people sitting on his couch waiting for his return. "Oh how I wish it were..."

Then he was submerged into the darkness again.

_Beverly Marsh..._

Ran her hands over the thick fabric draped over her.

"Are you ready honey?"

Beverly looked down and saw herself standing in a beautiful porcelain white wedding dress, simple but perfect. Lace ran across her chest and down her arms. Her red hair was perfectly curled and rand down her back, swaying every time she moved. She looked in the mirror and smiled happily, knowing this was going to be a moment that changed her life forever.

"Honey?" The woman repeated, grabbing Beverly's attention again.

It was her mother, she realized once the woman stepped into frame. Her mother had wildly curly red hair that fell to her waist, a sparkly smile, and eyes of kindness. She was beautiful, perfect even.

"Of course, mom. Just a little nervous."

Her mother turned her away from the mirror to face her, "Don't be, sweetie. Tom is perfect for you!"

"Tom?" Beverly asked, confused, and walked over to the window to look out and see her future husband.

"What's the matter?"

She saw the distant outline of him, Tom Rogan, and sighed. Her stomach churned in disgust for a second before she pushed the feeling down, brushing it off as stress. She turned to her mother and shook her head as if to say 'nothing'. Straightening out her dress one last time she turned and pushed open the door.

Beverly stood face to face, hand in hand, with her husband as they both said "I do". As they walked down the aisle, her faintly aware of how hard he was holding her hand, she thought about how someone was missing. Something, perhaps? Her new name was announced as they walked, her name of Beverly Marsh-Rogan.

It didn't sound quite right. Harsh as it rolled off the tongue, like a curse.

The two were suddenly entering their hotel room, wedding officially over and now they were alone. For some reason Beverly found herself feeling scared. As if something bad was about to happen.

Tom helped unzip her dress, "Today was perfect. I'm so lucky to call you mine, forever."

She was thankful she was facing away from him, "Me too. I love you, you know that right?"

She tensed as his hand fell on her shoulder, though the pain she was expecting never came. Instead he kissed her temple and excused himself to the restroom. When she blinked, she woke up in the bed naked in the middle of the night. Tom was in a deep sleep beside her as she snuck off to change.

She left the room and wandered around the hotel, hoping to pass time. It oddly reminded her of Derry, with how it was decorated and small. Not at all what she'd expected to find in New York on her honeymoon.

"You alright?" A man asked her, he was working on a set of blueprints in the common room of the hotel, near the entrance.

"Jesus," She yelped, not having seen him. "Sorry, i didn't see you there. Yes, I'm...perfect."

The man smiled, soft and kinder than any other smile she'd ever seen, "So perfect you're wondering the halls of a shitty hotel at 3 in the morning."

"I just got married," she told him.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Because, as I just said, you're alone at 3 in the morning. Must not be very happy, then? It's okay...I'm married too."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I'm Ben Hanscom."

She felt as though she already knew that. Just like she felt she knew that he was from Derry too, and that he once was fat and built a clubhouse underground. That he has scars carved into his stomach from a bully. She felt as if she knew more about this man than she did about her husband.

Before she could respond, she found herself alone in the darkness. Free from the shackles of how it could've been.

_Eddie..._

Opened the door to find his mother and father waiting, a large casserole in hand. Sonia smiled widely as she leaned forward and pressed a big kiss to his cheek before welcoming herself in. Frank shook his head and followed as well, simply clapping his hand on Eddie's shoulder as he passed.

"I know you said you and Myra were going to handle dinner for tonight, but I couldn't help but bring a contribution. Nothing too special, promise."

"Thanks, Mom," Eddie said as he took it from her hands. "I'm sure Myra won't mind."

"Have you-"

"Taken my medicine? Yes mom, I have. Don't worry."

"Medicine?" Frank asked, concern in his voice echoing the one on his mothers face. "What on earth do you need medicine for?"

"Are you sick?" Sonia asked.

Eddie shook his head, "Never-mind, no of course I'm not sick. I just meant I've taken my vitamins."

"I don't see why that's important, hell we don't even take vitamins," his father laughed, ruffling his hair. "You worry too much, kiddo."

"Did you—"

"Remember my inhaler? Yes, mom. Can you please just...drop it? I can take care of myself."

"First of all," Sonia Said sternly, "drop the attitude. And secondly, what are you talking about inhaler? You don't have asthma and you never have."

"But-"

"Stop messing with your mother, Eddie. Let her go handle dinner with Myra and we can throw some ball out back."

Before Eddie could say anything, he found himself outside in the hot sun looking down at the leather football in hand. His hands were sweaty and the sun seemed to blare too bright, too loud. The grass below his feet was too green, but he ignored that as he turned and tossed the ball. The throw was weak, like it normally was, but managed to make it to the other mans hands.

"I should probably warn you that your mother is going to bring up the subject of grandchildren during dinner tonight," His father said as he threw the ball back.

Eddie managed to grab it, but then immediately was thrown into a coughing fit. "Children?!"

"Hey, it was only a matter of time she got restless. You know, I'm just surprised you got married."

"What's that mean?"

His father hesitated, looking down at the ball back in his hands as he figured out the proper response. To be honest or to lie. Eddie watched it anxiously, as if afraid that if his father spoke what he knew his mother always thought then he'd never recover from the impact.

"Nothing kiddo," His dad said as he threw the ball again, "You were just a weird kid. Never seemed very interested in girls."

"That's not true...I thought Beverly was pretty."

"Who's Beverly?"

Eddie shrugged, unsurprised his mother never told his father, "Beverly Marsh, from when I was like 14. She lived in Derry with us."

"Derry? Where's that?" Eddie froze, not having expected that response, so his father moved closer. "You alright, kid? You're acting a bit strange."

Eddie sighed, looking down at the pig-skinned ball in his hands. It seemed like the longer he scared the larger it got, until it barely fit in both hands. It felt as though, under his hands, it was pumping rapidly. Like a heart...like his heart. The sun was no longer bearing down on him as the sky was covered in the dark grey on stormy clouds, but the heat it had still radiated onto his skin. He was sweating now, his clothings sticking to his skin, and he couldn’t find it in himself to look away from the ball.

"I don't love Myra," he blurted out. He wasn't sure why he said it, but he knew it was true. "I've never loved Myra."

"Eddie, what the hell are you talking about? You've been married to her since you turned 18. You grew up together, high school sweethearts. Did something happen lately you didn't tell us about?"

"I-" he hesitated, but having already spoken his truth he forced himself to finish, "I don't like women, dad. You're right...I never have."

Closing his eyes to let the tears fall, he found himself floating in peace. Far away from the truth and the lies. Perhaps he floated away from himself as well.

_Bill..._

Typed the final words, 'the end', and successfully ended the story. He hoped the public would love this conclusion as much as they loved the last 5. He closed his notebook just as the shrill ring of the door bell sounded off. The office door transformed into the front door as he opened it, finding himself staring face to face with his grown little brother.

"Billy!" Georgie exclaimed happily, moving forward to pull him into a tight hug. "God I'm so glad it's spring break! I've really missed you."

"Hey Georgie," Bill laughed, pulling away with a big grin as he welcomed his brother and the girl with him inside. "Who might you be?"

"Daisy," The smaller blonde said, blushing slightly. "I'm your brothers girlfriend."

"Oh really?" He asked, looking at his brother with approval, "it's nice to meet you, Daisy."

"We both go to college together, so I hope you don't mind I brought her along for the weeks break. I really wanted to introduce her to both you, mom, and dad."

"Of course she's welcome. I'm glad you guys are happy together. I ordered a few pizzas for tonight, is that alright?"

"Sounds great," Georgie said as he plopped down on the couch and turned on the television. "My favorite comedian is on right now anyways."

The channel was changed to Richie Tozier's segment on SNL, dressed up as some character as he preformed one of his best voices. Daisy and Georgie instantly started giggling at something Richie said, but all Bill could focus on was the fact that Richie was his little brothers idol, even after all these years. Georgie idolized the poor humor of Richie when they were all together in Derry, even if his older brother expressed disapproval.

"Your favorite comedian is Richie?" He asked bemused.

"You say that like you know him, Billy," Georgie said absently. "He is one of my favorites, incredibly original. Did you know he comes Derry like we do?"

"Of course I do, Georgie. He was one of my best friends, remember? Trashmouth Tozier."

"He moved to Texas when he was like three," Daisy said. "You must be thinking of someone else."

"Yeah, I don't know who you're talking about Bill."

"No, you must remember. You idolized him and it drove Stanley insane that such a innocent kid like you looked up to such an insane person like Richie. Remember Stanley Uris?"

"Nope," Georgie said, popping the 'p' at the end. "Think you're lost in one of your stories again, big brother. Mucho locos. No offense, but you're a bit...crazy sometimes in those horror books."

"I'll be right back," Bill sighed as he climbed off the couch and went to his room to make a call. He didn't know how he knew the number, but the ringing signified it was real.

"This is Stan Uris," A man answered, voice soft and polite.

"Hey Stan the Man," Bill said quietly. "Please tell me you remember me. Georgie is pulling a joke on me, I think. Pretending like he didn’t know you and Richie when we were younger.”

"I'm sorry? Who's speaking?"

"It's me, Bill. I was your best friend when we were children, alongside the rest of the losers. Remember?"

"No, Bill, I'm afraid I don't. I've gotta get going now, my wife is calling, but you take care of yourself. Hopefully you'll find the person you're looking for."

"Th-thanks, Stan."

"No problem, Big Bill."

The words echoed in Bill's mind until he was gone, no longer in his room or house. He was in the darkness and it terrified him.

_Ben..._

Stood alone in the middle of an empty conference room, the meeting having just ended only minutes ago. He walked over to the edge and looked out of the full window wall, staring down at New York. People, though from this far they were merely ants, scattered along the busy streets. Cars stuck bumper to bumper, the occasional horn blaring could be heard. Chaotic but simple.

Despite it all, despite his stance above them, he couldn’t help but feel small. Alone. As if his existence was less meaningful that those ants and cars. So meaningless that him being above it was a way for god to remove him entirely from the others.

Words, ones he’d never heard before yet felt as if he’d read them a million times, echoed in his mind repeatedly. _Your hair is winter fire_, the voice said, _January embers..._

“My heart burns there too,” He whispered to himself.

It felt wrong to whisper it when all he wanted to do was cry it out. Scream it from this great magnitude so everyone below and around him could hear it as clearly as he could in his mind. An echo, like the soft one in his mind, that would be so powerful that the creator of the poem would have no choice but to reveal themselves. Or, perhaps more important, the person whom it was for. About.

“A song? No, there’s no meaning behind songs anymore. A story? Perhaps, but it’s too...short.” He paced the office, though his eyes remained on the outside world as he thought. “A poem. Yes, but about who? By who? How do I know...why do I care?”

An hour passed, him lost in the dark mumbles of his thoughts, before anything new happened.

“Mr. Hanscom,” His secretary interrupted, standing at the open door to the room. “Your three o’clock is here.”

He turned, seeing her with entirely new eyes, “Your hair...wasn’t it shorter?”

The woman looked down at their long straightened red hair, which fell down to the middle of her hips. “No, Mr Hanscom, I haven’t cut it in years.”

Her eyes were green. Her hair was the color...of winter fire. Suddenly, Ben realized his chest blossomed the sensation of warmth. A fire so hot and passionate that it couldn’t be anything less than love. How couldn’t he notice this before? Perhaps because he was blinded by the weight of a world without poems.

“What do you want to be?” He asked, suddenly completely attentive to her. “When you grow up?”

“I’m an adult,” She states, a bit of anger in her tone. “But I always wanted to be—“

“A fashion designer?”

She paused, completely taken aback by his knowledge, and nodded. A slight blush brushed her cheeks, proud that her boss cared enough to notice her passion. Her aspirations. She’d never told him before, he’d never even noticed her hair until this moment, but Ben felt as if he’d always known everything there was to know about her.

“What was your fathers name, Beverly?”

He’d usually called her Ms Marsh, but she ignored that and answered the odd question, “Alvin.”

“He scared you, didn’t he?”

A pause, perhaps hesitation, then, “yes, sometimes he really scared me.”

Ben sunk into the darkness, the burning of a flame inside his chest being the only signifying thing of his life. He held onto it and tried to remember the look of fire in the middle of winter.

_Richie..._

Woke up in bed, but he wasn’t alone. A slim man was laid pressed against his side, head nuzzled into his chest and arms draped across him. The man held him tightly, as if afraid to wake up and find he’d lost his grip. They were both naked and hot skin pressed to each other comfortably. Almost as if this was how it was always meant to be.

Without hesitation, Richie tilted his head and pressed a soft kiss to the mans head. The man, who he knew was Eddie, woke up with fluttering tired eyes and a lazy grin. Eddie pushes forward and pulled him into a kiss, soft and sweet. Like it was something he’d do everyday for the rest of their lives.

“Morning handsome,” Eddie sighed, nuzzling impossibly closer to him, “you’re up early.”

“Waking up to you is all I could ask for,” Richie responded softly. “Stanky breath and all.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but said nothing back. Richie’s eyes furrowed, unsettled by the lack of retaliation, but he brushed it off. The idea of leaving the bed sounded dreadful, especially since they were so close to each other, but he knew it’d have to happen eventually. He pressed a kiss to Eddie’s shoulder before moving to stand.

“Be a darling and make breakfast,” He jokes, “like the proper house wife you are.”

Not his best joke, but he loved seeing Eddie annoyed in the morning. Like the look of hot anger mixed with sleepy eyes and bedhead was the best thing he could’ve asked for. Which is why his heart sunk when the man smiled and said ‘of course’ before doing what he was asked. Richie turned and found himself sitting down for breakfast, a plate full of his favorites sitting before him.

“I was only joking, Eds, but this is amazing!” He exclaimed, immediately stuffing his face.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Richie paused mid-bite, “since when would you do anything I asked? Like, without some sort of retaliation? I literally just called you Eds and earlier I called you a wife...are you poisoning me or some shit?”

Eddie laughed, “I could never hurt you, lovely. I love you and it brings me joy to make you happy.”

“This isn’t real,” Richie sighed deeply. “It never is, is it?”

Richie was back into the dark, mind empty but heart heavy. It was a dream he’d had often, but like reality it was never enough. Never enough because it would never happen. Eddie, in these dreams, was never the Eddie that Richie loved. He was too nice, too soft and loving. He missed the reality of their banters and joking, of...them. This wasn’t the first time Richie chose to join the darkness in favor of loneliness over a lie.

_The Losers..._

All woke up simultaneously, even though they all experienced different lengths of time in their dreams. A question rested on all of their tongues, a question that they wouldn’t know the answer to. Was their dreams just a dream, or was it brought by the Dybbuk? An idea of the answer weighed in their minds, but they weren’t sure.

The pairs looked to one another with exhaustion. Ben was fast to hug Beverly, who was quick to return the favor. Bill sighed and clapped Stanley on the shoulder, a silent act to confirm he was real. When the man didn’t jump away, they both knew they remembered each other again. Mike groaned from his position, sitting up and looking at the Golden wedding band on his finger. Within seconds he dialed a phone and called home, where his real wife was.

Richie and Eddie were the only ones who turned away from each other instead of to. Eddie, flushed with the embarrassment and truth his dream revealed, was afraid that looking to Richie would make things worse. Would reveal the truth, or worse would make him say those same words that Eddie had told his father. Richie was blushing for an entirely different reason, the reason being that the one subject of love in his was the man laying beside him. That he was imagined a beautiful world where they were lovers, where they were as happy together as Beverly and Ben.

That is wasn’t the first time he wished this to the point of dreaming it.

They all left their rooms at the same time, looking to one another from the hallway and then over the stairs to see Mike looking to them as well. A thousand questions laid in the thick heavy air. The questions of: who was there, what did you dream, how did you escape, and what do we do now?

“I’ll help Stan make dinner?” Beverly said.

“Y-Yeah,” Bill agreed. “We have a l-lot to tal-talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the themes of the dream seem very repetitive, I just wanted to show how they’re all connected to each other in such a strong way. I hope you enjoyed, feedback is welcome and appreciated!  
-K


	4. The Dybbuk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the wait. These chapters are longer than I usually would do and I’ve been so busy so it’s hard to come up with the best I can imagine. Anyways I hope you enjoy this chapter, though I will warn you it’s a bit tragic in some sections. 
> 
> Chapter TW: homophobia and homophobic slurs, hinting at depression or suicide

They all sat around the dinning room table, eating food but never actually tasting it. So many of them were still lost in the events of their dreams, more specifically in how real it all seemed. Was it? Was there a chance they all, somehow, were sent to a world where things were different?

"So I guess we all have a silent agreement to not talk about whatever the fuck just happened in our dreams," Richie suggested. "Like...ever?"

"For once, I agree with Richie," Beverly nodded. "It wasn't real so I don't think it matters."

"Speaking of things that aren't real, what exactly is the Dybbuk? What can you tell us about it, Stan?" Asked Mike.

Stanley sighed, rubbing his darkened eyes before speaking, "I gave it that name because it's the closest thing I could compare it to. See, a Dybbuk is a Jewish mythological spirit that attaches itself onto a soul. It drains the energy from that soul until it's needs, whatever they are, are met. In this case our soul is its...life line."

"Is it attached to everyone?"

"Everyone in this town, yes. It uses these illusions, though some are reality, to keep the soul thriving in emotion until there's nothing left. Feeding off your happiness, hopes, fears, and everything in between. Once it's done...there's nothing left but the body of a person."

"So," Eddie said, taking a large gulp of his wine, "You brought us here to kill a fucking dementor?"

"Beep—wait you're not Richie."

"Shove off, Ben. You know I don't watch that stupid nerdy shit. What the fuck even is a dementor?"

"G-guy," Bill said, successfully interrupting the conversation, "S-Stan was talking. Now isn't the time for jo-jokes."

"Sorry Bill," Eddie grumbled. "How many people has this Dybbuk killed?"

"As far as I've heard? Around 30, all ranging in age and everything else. The only thing they had in common was here, that and their body being drained of life like it's a hundred year old skeleton." Stan answered, shivers running down his spine. "But it will be more...including me."

"What do you mean? Can't you just leave this shit hole and run as far away as possible?" Richie asked, losing his appetite. "There must be some way to escape."

"No, there isn't. Not when you've been here this long, the Dybbuk has too strong of a hold on my soul. I can feel it fading away everyday. You guys could still run...but unless we kill it, everyone else here will die like me."

"How long do you think we have, Stan?" Beverly asked, itching for a cigarette. "How...how long do you have?"

"Maybe a month, maybe less, I'm not certain. Not long, but enough time to make a plan."

"Great," Richie groaned, "That's just fan-fucking-tastic isn't it? Oh, no biggie, just one month of torture and possible death from an evil spirit draining our souls like a slurpie. How bad could it be?"

"You don't have to be here," Stan snapped, irritability from the lack of sleep increasing, "You can run, all of you. Like I said, it's not too late."

"We're not going anywhere," Ben said, sternly but also confidently. "We won't let you die."

"Yeah, Stan," Richie said, "I'm not leaving even...I'm just scared. I'm tired of being scared, so let's figure out a way to kill this bastard and get you laid in Vegas, far away from the bullshit this town reeks."

"Beep Beep, Richie."

Night fell as they all bounced ideas off each other, some more serious than others. However by the end of that second day nobody had come up with a solid plan of attack. They had all decided, however, on a plan on how to create a plan. Richie, Eddie, and Ben would all go to the library to do research. Beverly, Mike, Stan, and Bill would all wander around the town to search for clues, and hopefully find the home of the Dybbuk.

That morning Ben was tasked with going with the boys that way the others knew real work would be done. That and to keep an eye on the two most chaotic members of the losers club. They had all spent a while debating if the group should split up but it was apparent rather quickly that it was the only option. Bill and Mike decided to go north while Stan and Beverly would go south.

_Richie, Eddie, Ben_

"At least the weather is nice here in hell," Richie sighed as they walked along the sidewalk, "Sunny but not suffocatingly hot."

"Yeah," Ben agreed absently, "Do you think it's possible to love someone so much you can't live without them?"

"Nope," Richie lied, remembering that feeling in his gut two years ago as he held a bleeding out Eddie.

"What about you, Eddie?" Ben asked curiously.

"I-" He didn't know the answer, was his truth. He didn't feel a love strong enough for Myra to imagine not being able to live without her. "I'm not sure, why?"

"The dream...I woke up because of my love for Beverly. Because I was in this world where she wasn't—she didn't know me. Not really. She certainly didn't love me and I can't imagine..."

He couldn't finish, but they both already knew what he meant. Bens love for Beverly lasted far longer than anyone ever imagined, only now that love was returned. In their world of tragedy's and monsters, that one truth would outlast it all.

"My mom and dad were alive," Eddie told them, "He and I we, uh, we played ball together."

"Really? How was that, Eds?"

Richie knew it was something Eddie had always dreamed about when they were younger. Having that father figure back in his life, someone to force him to face his fears while also letting go and having fun. Letting him play ball instead of counting his weekly pills. His mother had always been too scared and too fat to do any of these things with younger Eddie.

"It was okay," Eddie brushed off, "Nothing weird happened or anything, if that's what your asking. Nope, nothing crazy at all. No confessions or nothing. Just, ya know, some nice ball game. Then bam! Woke up, haha."

"Okay," said Richie skeptically.

"What'd you dream of Richie?" Ben asked, pulling open the door to the library to let them all in.

"I thought we all agreed that we weren't going to talk about this shit," Richie said, knowing he wasn't anywhere ready to be honest but also not wanting to lie. "Can we please just do our research and—"

"Where the fuck are we?"

_Bill and Mike_

"We're heading to the park where the first two victims were found," Mike states, seemingly talking to himself. "What will we do when we arrive?"

"I fu-figured we'd wait and see if we saw s-something suspicious," Bill shrugged. "Maybe the Dybbuk will come back. Or maybe it left something behind."

"I hate that it took another monster like this to drag us back together," Mike sighed, rubbing his hair. "God, after killing It two years ago I really believed that we'd be inseparable again. That surly nothing could've separated us, not after what we went through."

"I know. I'm sorry, Mike."

They walked in silence a moment longer, feeling like there was so much left unsaid but not knowing how to say it. They wished they could excuse their lacking relationships on the fact they forgot, like they had before It came back, but it wasn't the truth. They all remembered everything.

Perhaps that was why they couldn't bear to keep in touch. They were all too deep in the aftermath, the trauma and pain, to allow themselves to be connected to that reminder. The reminder that Bill had a brother who died, that he nearly died, and that there wasn't anything he could've done to prevent it. The reminder that Mike was tormented by men and monster, that he was put through hell, and that he was forced to never forget It.

"I dreamt of a world where It never happened, y—ya know?" Said Bill alas. "A world where I never met Ben or Beverly. Where we never saved you in a rock fight in the barrows. Hell, even my fr-riendship with Richie, Eddie, and Stan was nonexistent. After the final encounter, I always wished that It never happened. When it did it..."

"It wasn't what you dreamed of. Was it disappointing?"

"It wasn't, at least not before I realized all of that. I ha-had Georgie. He was all grown up, had a girlfriend and everything. He was happy, because of course he was. Georgie was always happy."

"I came back because of my wife," Mike said. "I think she'd really like you, Bill. She's strong and beautiful but also feisty. God, she's my hero. I wish you could've met her before all this."

"After we help Stan, i will. Promise."

"Don't make promises you aren't willing to keep, Denbrough. You taught us that a long time ago."

Before Bill had a chance to respond, the whole world caved in on itself, sending the men into the dark pits of hell.

_Stan and Beverly_

"She was really pretty," Beverly said as they strolled along the boulevard. "Your wife. The room had, um, pictures. I hope it's okay I looked at a few."

Stan paused a moment, a ghost smile brushing his lips as he remembered the woman he loved, "She really was. When I met her all those years back I knew instantly that she was the one. She never questioned where I went during that time when It came back, but in her own way I think she knew."

"I always knew—well I guess we all always knew that out of the whole group, you were most likely to get married. Be happy, start a family, and be good. You always were too...old for your age."

"I don't know about that," he said warily, rubbing his neck. 

"I'm serious," Beverly pushes, "I mean, look at us. Eddie is married to a woman, Bill hasn't dated anyone longer than a month, Richie pours alcohol into his coffee and thinks we won't notice, and Mike is still clinging onto the memory of It."

"Not you and Ben, though."

Beverly paused a moment as they entered a park, one of the areas victims were found. Her and Ben were the closest of the group to achieve what Stan had since he graduated. It took them a demonic clown coming back from the dead 17 years ahead of schedule, but they're finally at a place where a future is a possibility. 

"I'm scared, Stanny."

A part of Stan was instantly thrown back into a sense of nostalgia by the nickname that only Beverly ever gave him, but that was drowned out by what she told him. "The Dybbuk won't get you, Beverly. None of us will let that happen."

"That's not what I'm talking about," She looked down at her feet nervously, stomach lurching. "I gotta tell you something, Stan. Something nobody else knows. Something I think you'd be the only one to understand...to help."

He waited silently for her confession, though his hands grew clammy with nerves. So many possibilities ran through his mind, especially because Beverly was always one of the braver group members when they were younger. He didn't know what she could've possibly been talking about, but he knew no matter what it was he had to be there. They weren't the closest when they were children, not even now, but Stan felt like she was the only one now who could possibly relate to him. To his loss and his love and his fear.

"I'm pregnant, Stanny."

_Richie, Eddie, Ben_

"You've got to be shitting me," Richie groaned upon seeing where they stood.

"The kissing bridge," Ben whispered just loud enough for the others to hear. "I've only ever been here once, way back when Bowers tried carving his name into my stomach."

"Why would the Dybbuk possibly want to drag us here? There's not much that scary or interesting about this place other than the idea of how many teens at the school caught chlamydia bumping uglies under the bridge over summer," Eddie shrugged, walking along the edge is the bridge.

Dozens upon dozens of carvings ran along it. Some showed broken lovers, whose carvings were scribbled out in bitterness. Some showed slurs or stupid sayings. Most, however, were lovers initials deeply engraved. Perhaps a heart circled them, in case the letter + letter wasn't clear enough.

All of them made Richie sick to his stomach, eyes zeroed in on the one he made back in 1989 without anyone else knowing. The one that represented the closest he's ever been to confessing his truth. Eddie was too far up the bridge side to notice what Richie's beaded worried eyes were focused on, but Ben noticed it immediately when Richie wasn't complaining or joking loudly. He said nothing, but his eyes too focused on the carving in front of him.

R + E

His eyes made direct contact with Richie's a moment. He knew by the look of exposed horror on Richie's face that he didn't hide what he knew. What that carving confirmed after all these years of knowing without having true confirmation. Ben knew that this dream, or reality, had just exposed Richie's deepest secret to him. Something so small but so significant to the other man that it was kept secret for 12 years.

Before either of them could say anything, Eddie was heading back and then they were suddenly surrounded by people. Not just anybody, but their childhood selves. Their childhood friends and tormentors.

"Is anyone else seeing this shit?!" Eddie screamed, running closer to the bridge edge behind the others (unknowingly right against Richie's carving).

"I know right? Little me was not that ugly, so what the fuck Dybbuk?" Richie joked, trying to swallow his fear over the fact that everyone was looking at him. "Damn Ben, I forgot how fat you used to be."

"Not now, Rich," Ben sighed, looking warily at the group of children staring at them. "They're Not moving, right? Even Henry Bowers and his group of Grade-A douchebags haven't moved yet... why not?"

"Because they're going to fucking kill us! We are going to die on a bridge in Derry! Can we please, for fucks sake, just run away from the zombie ex-versions of us and try to get back to the library?" Eddie screeched, heart pounding.

"Is it just my imagination or are they all staring at me?" Richie asked, voice raised higher than usual. He stepped to the right and watched as all their eyes followed him, "Shit."

"Don't make any suddenly movements, alright Tozier?" Ben asked, voice low and calm. "Eddie, try to walk as far to your left as possible and see if you can escape."

"What about you guys?"

"Just do it!"

Eddie took one step before 14 year old Bill Denbrough spoke up, voice just like it was when they were younger. "S-St-Stop Eddie. Th-this isn't fuh-funny. There's som-something we need to t-ta-talk about."

"Ah fuck! Little Bill is talking to me, why is little Bill talking to me?!"

"Richie is hiding something from us," young Beverly states coldly.

"What are you hiding, Richie? Come on, you can tell us, Fat Ben asked, voice void of its usual softness.

"I don't know what the fuck—"

Henry interrupted him, "You're a fucking little dick sucker, aren't you Four-Eyes? You're a pussy."

"A faggy fag," Victor Criss continued, motioning his hands in a jack off movement.

"You-You've got the fucking AIDS like everyone else don't you, Richie? Don't fucking come near me with your shitty disease, my mom said you could kill me," Young Eddie said, backing away from younger Richie fearfully. "They say you'll make my dick fall off."

"You like dick don't you, Richie?" asked Mike.

"What the hell is going on, Rich?" Eddie asked, staring at the scene unfold in front of him.

Richie couldn't find it in himself to speak, or breath or anything else. He was frozen like a statue as he watched the little Eddie, the boy he fell in love with, scramble away from him in fear. He swallowed thickly when it was young Stan who spoke next.

"It's wrong to be gay, Rich. I can't hang out with you anymore. I don't want too...You're sick, Rich."

"Sick?" Belch Huggins laughed deeply, manically, "He's a fucking asshole lover. Bet he'd pay a dozen dimes for a little bitch like you to touch him for one second."

"I bet he'd beg for it for free, like a dirty whore."

"Richie."

It was Ben who spoke to him in that moment, the real Ben. Not the younger one who wore disgust on his face. Ben had been yelling to grab the mans attention for the past few moments but it seemed his voice was only just now registered. Richie looked at his younger self, a boy so shamed with the truth, and couldn't see anything else.

Ben stepped in front of him and blocked the view, "Hey, don't listen to them. Richie, look at me. This isn't real. None of this is real, it's all an illusion."

"Isn't it?" Richie sighed, a hot tear streamed down his left cheek. 

The screaming, the horror of their words, intensified in Richie's ears. He shook his head softly, because he knew this scene in itself wasn't true. He knew that Bowers and his gang were dead. That the Losers are grown up now. He'd known that from the moment they walked onto the bridge in the first place. It wasn't the scene that was real.

It was the truth behind their words.

"You love me, don't you? You're gay!" Young Eddie shouted in horror, looking at younger Richie the same way he used to look at Pennywise.

"No, no I don't," Young Richie denied weakly. "I'm not guys! I promise, I like girls. I don't like boys, th-that would be crazy."

"G-Goo-Goodbye, Richie."

"Wait," the boy cried as he watched his friends walk away. Run away. "Bill! Eddie! Eddie, come back! Guys...I'm not..."

"I want to go home now, Ben," Richie sighed, not bothering to wipe the tears from his cheeks. His voice was so small, so tired, that Ben instantly remembered the real child inside of Richie. The same child projected next to him, alone and scared of his truth. Of the pain and loneliness brought with it.

"Okay," Ben agreed. When he stepped back they both looked up and found themselves outside the library entrance.

"Took you guys long enough," Eddie huffed from where he leaned against the wall, though the annoyance in his voice wasn't convincing. "I was sucked back to reality like half an hour ago, right after I said something."

A million questions ran through his mind in that moment. Questions about what he just saw and what it meant. He had an idea, but surely he had to be wrong. At least that's what he forced himself to believe as they walked into the cold library. Questions about what Ben could've said to Richie to pull him back to reality. About why Richie was crying.

Questions about why he thought he felt the carving of two very familiar letters behind his hand just moments before he was brought back to reality.

Richie wiped his tears, "Come on assholes, let's do some fucking research."

Eddie and Ben looked warily at each other before following the man, knowing it was best to drop the topic for now. Ben found himself falling behind them, rubbing his eyes as he shook his head. So much baggage from Richie was just unloaded on him and he had no idea how to approach the topic. How to help.

If he could help.

_Bill and Mike_

"I think it trapped us underground," Mike concluded after feeling around the dirt for an exit for the tenth time.

"So we're b-buried alive?"

"Maybe? It could be a trick—"

"Or we could be on the verge of losing the little oxygen l-left down here and fu-fucking die."

Bill hadn't meant to be so harsh in the way he said it, but that's how it came off. A part of the man was tired of constantly being stuck in situations like this. Another party felt a sort of inner relief at the idea that the fight might be concluded. Peace might finally be upon him. Even if that had been true he wouldn't accept it, not with Mike's life on the line as well.

"I really wish this b-bastard would reveal himself so we could just beat the shit out of it," He confessed. "Even if it didn't do anything, it would be satisfying."

"Could be a girl. God, if only there was a magical turtle that could save the day," Sighed Mike.

"A turtle?"

"Yeah, why not. Maybe a unicorn." Even in the dark Mike could feel the look of confusion on the other mans face, "If there can be immortal killer clowns and some mystery soul sucking being, then why can't there be a magical turtle?"

"I think the l-lack Of Oxygen is getting to your head Mike," Bill laughed softly. "Which means we got to hurry up and find a way out."

"Assuming this isn't an illusion, the only way out is going to be through. We're going to have to crawl through god knows how much dirt and hope to find the other side."

"You have a talent for making this s-shit seem hopeless," Bill sighed, "no wonder the group looked to me in the past."

"Ready?"

"W-W-Wait," Bill stuttered, reaching around in the dark until his hands clasped Mike's shoulders. "No matter what, we g-gotta keep going. No matter how hard."

"I know, don't worry. We're going to be alright."

"I love you, Mikey. See you on the other side."

"I love you too," Mike said, feeling the hand drop from his shoulder.

Both men began clawing away at the dirt above them, feeling and inhaling it as more fell onto their face. They forced their hands through, ignoring the pain and difficulty, and soon nothing else mattered. Dirt fell at their feet first, filling the hole around them while also forcing them upwards. Each breath was jagged and painful.

Soon at they could smell, feel, hear, and taste was the earth. Roots, bugs, and everything in between. It didn't take long for their entire bodies to be buried completely in the dirt, oxygen a distant memory. Every movement caused pain. Just when they were on the verge of giving up, Bill's hand breached the surface. Miles followed soon after.

It took them a mere ten minutes but as they fully broke through it felt as if they'd aged ten years. Thankful to be alive was all they could focus on, until they looked around and found themselves in a graveyard. In front of them were two tombs, one with each of their names.

**Here Lies**

**William Denbrough**

**A loving son, brother, and friend**

**He died alone**

**1976-2001**

**Here Lies**

**Michael Hanlon**

**A loving son, husband, and friend**

**He died forgotten**

**1976-2001**

_Beverly and Stan_

Stanley Uris has only ever been truly shocked to a point of utter fear three times in his life. He's been scared many times, yes, and shocked many times. He was scared of it. He was shocked when his wife proposed. But he only experienced a true paralyzing sense of both three times.

The first was when Mike Hanlon called him two years ago to tell him It was back. The second is when the police arrived to his house a week ago to tell him his wife was found dead in the children's clothing section of the local store. The third moment was now, standing and looking at the beautifully terrified Beverly Marsh as she told him she was pregnant.

"I found out in the airport before we boarded. See, um, I was late for my period then I started feeling sick around 9 in the morning every day so I thought...then you called and I wasn't sure what happened...You look like you're about to pass out."

Stanley felt as if he was, so all he could bring himself to do was pull her in for a hug. He held her tightly, as if letting go would make her disappear, and heard her sigh in relief as she hugged him back. It was the first time they’d done so in years, and the feeling was a comforting warmth.

He finally spoke after pulling away, “Congratulations.”

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, “I know this is probably the last thing you wanted to hear, especially after—I didn’t know who else to tell. Not with everything going on.”

“No, hey, it’s okay. This is, this is good! Someone in our group deserves this...oh god.”

“What?” She frantically looked around for any sign of danger, “Is the Dybbuk here?”

“No,” he said, “God no. I just, um, I just realized I brought you into a literal death zone while you’re pregnant. We need to get you as far away from here as possible.”

“To hell with that!” Beverly whisper shouted. “I’m not leaving, not until we kill this son of a bitch and save you. Save everyone. After everything we went through to stop It for good, I couldn’t allow myself to live in a world where it means nothing because I don’t stop the Dybbuk.”

“But-“

“I know. I know, okay? Which is why I’ll tell Ben later, we all need to focus on the problem at hand. The faster we kill it the faster we can all leave. Safely.”

Stan moved to the nearby bus bench and sat down, watching as she moved to do the same. They both felt the weight of this resting on their shoulders, but also the hope. The first of the Losers to be pregnant. To have the true potential for a family. A part of stan felt as if he should be angry, envious or jealous even, that Beverly didn’t mean to be pregnant and here she is. That it happened so easily for her but not his own wife. But he couldn’t, not when he knows how much this means to them all. To her.

He smiled. The first genuine one in months. That smile, upon seeing the one slipping onto Beverlys, turned into a laugh. One that brought the crinkles out by his eyes and the creases in his forehead. She laughed as well, so hard tears left her eyes and her stomach began to hurt. To an outsider they looked drunk, or perhaps drugged, but it didn’t matter.

It was the first ounce of joy Stan felt for as long as he could remember.

_Bill and Mike_

“They—They’re all our graves. Richard Tozier, he died pretending. Edward Kaspbrak, he died scared. Beverly—Hiding, Stan—Tired, and Ben—Hopeless.”

They both looked over the graves, the stone a clean new marble white with their names engraved. Behind each grave was the graves of their passed away loved ones. Georgie, both of Richie’s and Eddie’s parents, Beverlys father, Mike and Bens mother.

“I didn’t know Richie’s parents died,” Mike mumbled under his breath, hand lingering on his grave.

“Yeah a month or so after we killed it. Car accident. I f-found out through one of his cousins, made it to where they moved in Brooklyn and...”

“Ben’s mom?”

“Year after High school. At least that’s what Beverly told me,” Bill explained.

“So much death, so few years. Every one of us has just about lost everyone. Some of us have. Do you think it’s because of It?” Mike asked.

“I’m not sure, b-but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that the Dybbuk is warning is. It’s not exactly a s-subtle metaphor. Buried alive then finding our graves. Ma-maybe it’s trying to scare us.”

“It didn’t want us to go back. Why not? Why is it trying to scare us off instead of keep us here? We are it’s life.”

Mike stood and walked over to Bill. The truth was he knew neither of them had the answers. Bill and him looked around a moment as a car passed, turning and finding themselves back on the sidewalk like they originally were. It was almost as if no time had passed, but the dirt covering them head to toe let them know most of what happened was real.

Which means they were running out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprised! I tried to keep the Beverly and Stan sections a little happier due to the honest heartbreak that writing Richie’s was. This story will be on all the losers, but it does focus a lot more on Richie because I’m in love with writing his character. Some of this will involve movie canon stuff and some story canon. For example, like the book Mikes parents are live but like the movie there was no magical turtle in this.
> 
> Comment your thoughts down below, feedback is always appreciated! Maybe write what you would like to see in the future or any personal head cannons you have for the characters.


	5. Confessing Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Long time no post. Life has been a bit busy lately with school, planning for college, and work. Due to all the amazing feedback I decided to try and write something up. It’s more of a shorter filler chapter, but I feel like that’s needed after all the events of the last chapters. I’ll hopefully get another chapter up by the end of the month, so here’s to hoping!

Ben, Richie, and Eddie had finished gathering a random collection of a dozen books that could possibly help when they got the call summoning them back home. Mike and Bill sounded urgent in their brief conversation, so they didn't hesitate to check out the books and head back. They walked in a silence, just like they spent that time in the library. It was quickly made obvious to the other two boys that Richie was not in the mood to talk about what they had all been forced to see.

The trio were the last ones to make it back to the house, though they were relieved everyone had made it safely. Ben instinctively kissed Beverly, both for a comfort and an assurance of this reality. Richie kept to himself as he watched the losers hug one another, flinching away anytime they tried to do the same to him. Distantly, as if submerged in water, he heard them all talking about what they experienced.

Something about graves and warnings. None of it made sense in his mind of wandering waves, but he was too lost to try and put the puzzle together. Numb hands grabbed a book, two were given to each person. He hadn't realized he was walking until he looked up and found himself back in the room he shared with Eddie. Only then did the water in his ears evaporate and he could hear clearly.

"You alright, Rich?" Eddie asked softly, opening his first book. "You look fucking dead."

"Sorry," Richie mumbled as he opened his book despite knowing that with both his dyslexia and troubled mind, no reading would be done.

A beat of silence followed before Eddie began reading, gnawing at his fingernails. His eyes skimmed over the pages of the history of Washington, only hanging on to a few words every once in a while. His eyes kept flickering up and looking at a dazed Richie, who wasn't bothering to pretend to do research any longer.

"So are we gonna talk about what the fuck happened or what?" Eddie sighed, closing the book.

"The bastard showed us a weird scenario and that's all," Richie shrugged, rubbing his temple softly.

"Bullshit."

"What do you want from me, Eddie? I don't know why the fuck anything happens anymore. All I know is Im fucking tired of the demons and ghosts and fucked up reality."

Eddie tossed his book beside him and looked the other man in the eyes, "Fine asshole. Don't want to answer that? How about you tell me why the fuck You didn't go to my wedding?"

"None of the bridesmaids were hot," the man said, lying and growing more tired at the idea of this argument.

"Oh fuck off, Tozier. We both know that's isn't why because Maggie Mackins was one and you've been wanting to get in her pants for years."

Richie just shrugged in response, his stomach burning at the idea of sleeping with any woman ever again. Before all he wanted to do was get lost in the pleasure that his life could bring him, lost in drugs that made it easier to be lost in the women. But now that he remembered himself, fully sobered with the truth of his desires, he couldn't bring himself to even picture Maggie "Worlds Hottest Accountant" Mackins. Unfortunately the hypochondriac spazmatic man before him didn't know that.

"Why didn't you come to the wedding, Richie? Hell, why didn't you talk to me at all after my mother's funeral?" Eddie asked, voice sharp and hard. 

It was a question that's lingered on his tongue since the day of his wedding, a hurt and anger. Out of all the losers, it hurt most that it was Richie who didn't reach out. After everything they'd gone through during the fight against It he was certain that they'd never grow apart again...that he'd never lose him again.

Richie didn't know how to respond to the question without exposing himself. Didn't know what excuse he could possibly make that would explain it without destroying everything. He was petrified of ruining it, just like he always had been. The lingering memory from the bridge, the look of complete disgust that little Eddie gave him...

"I don't know, Eds. I think I was just afraid I'd mess everything up."

It was the closest to the truth he could give without actually telling it. He wanted so badly to say those words, to confess the truth for the first time ever. About his rushing blood and racing heart when he saw Eddie, a sensation he held since he was young and dumb. The fact that the reason he messed with Eddie the most when they were younger is because he wanted so desperately for Eddie to think he was funny. Cool. Someone more like Bill and less broken like him. Not even just that he felt this for Eddie, but for that boy that hugged him a lot in the 5th grade. The boy from the arcade who stood closer than most boys did.

Just...boys.

"Are you gay?" Eddie whispered after another moment, though his voice was softer now than before. "Is that what It and this thing were mocking you about?”

Richie panicked so completely that he froze entirely. His whole body was tense to the point he shook and his chest burned from the lack of oxygen. His eyes were locked on the other mans, the same eyes that were his favorite to look at for so long.

"Don't know," he whispered softly, brokenly. "Maybe. So what if I am?"

Eddie sighed, a mixture of sorrow and relief leaving him, "Nothing, Richie. You know I—We will always love you. I just don't understand why you never said anything."

"Just like you never said anything about the kiss."

This time it was Eddie's turn to lie. He knew right off the bat what Richie was talking about because he'd remembered that kiss every time he looked at the other mans lips (which happened more often than not). He remembered that night with the dead lights and the kiss that brought his best friend back to him. The problem was that until now, he didn't think that Richie remembered.

"What?"

"The kiss, Eddie."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Come on you moron, the fucking kiss. The one you gave me to wake me up from the dead lights." 

"Oh," Eddie said, lowering his voice as he looked away, "Wh-what about it?"

"We never talked about it," Richie claimed, "Why not?"

"What's there to talk about? It wasn't anything important, I just did what Ben did for Beverly." It was lie, probably the second biggest one he'd ever said out loud, but he couldn't find it in himself to do anything different.

It wasn't anything important was the part that rung in Richie's ears until the vibrations reached his fragile heart and broke it a little more. He felt so idiotic to have clung on to that kiss since that night, to have found it important. To him it was a life saver, in the literal and metaphorical sense.

Eddie could feel the suffocating tension rising and itched for his inhaler, but instead settled for a joke. "Why? Was I the first boy the Great gay Richard Tozier ever kissed? Awe, Richie did you love me?"

Eddie made a kissy face and smooched closer to the other man, but his heart raced as he got closer then he quickly forced himself to back away. In his own mind, he hadn't realized how red Richie had gotten or how hurt. Because Eddie didn't realize that joke hit a little too close to home for the other man. Didn't realize how right he was. 

"No," Richie mumbled softly, though a smirk grew in his former frown. "You actually weren't the first man I kissed."

"Oh," Eddie said, all humor gone and replaced by a not-so-subtle jealousy. "Who was then?"

"Leonardo DiCaprio. 1997, the year that titanic came out. We met at a club and one thing led to another. So don't worry your little heart, Eddie Spaghetti, you weren't my first male kiss."

The best and worst part was that it was the truth. Worst because it was the most honest he's been all day.

In the other room Bill walked out of a steaming hot bathroom after a fresh shower, only a pair of sweatpants clinging to his still wet body. Stan had his nose deep into a book until he suddenly became aware of the new presence, flushing a soft pink at the sight of a wet and half naked Bill Denbrough. Guilt at this flush brewed deep in his stomach, causing him to force himself even deeper into the history of the town.

"Find anything interesting?" Bill groaned as he laid on the opposite end of the bed, exhaustion overwhelming. "M-maybe a 'Guide to k-kill a demon' tutorial?"

Stan tolled his eyes, "Oh yeah, for sure. See right here: The 10 Easy Steps to Killing Demons. Step one, burn it with a sick yo-momma joke. Step two, blast a Spice Girls song on repeat to force the demon into a torturous dance off with you. Winner takes all."

"Seems legit."

Stan could only huff a weak laugh, flipping the page as he tried his best to ignore the man behind him. He suddenly understood why Richie and Eddie always became so dumb and flustered around each other when they were close. The glint is his wedding band shocked Stan back into reality.

A reality that reminded him that these feelings are shameful. That he shouldn't be having them in the best where he loved his wife, in the room where he slept with her everyday, and by the bathroom where she would take her pregnancy tests. He remembered her laying right where Bill sits, listening to him tell childhood stories or rant about work.

"You were probably the one she wanted to meet the most, ya know?"

Bill didn't have to ask to know who he was talking about. Instead, upon seeing that lost dazed look in the man's eyes, he stayed silent but attentive. He'd always been curious about the woman that Stanley fell in love with. When he first found out, all he could think was how lucky she was.

"The infamous leader of us losers. Big Bill Denbrough, who lost his brother but lead his friends in getting revenge. Stuttering Bill, who was sharp as a fool and one of the youngest successful authors of all time."

"I think you overhyped me, Stan."

"No, I didn't. All I did was tell her random stories from time to time. About all of you, from that summer and before. I told her about Richie's voices and Ben's dam and Mike's rock fight. For some reason you were the one she liked the most... she said it was because of how I talked about you. Doesn't make much sense, but then again she was a crazy woman who I loved dearly."

Bill frowned, "I've never loved anyone before. Not like that, anyways. I've never been able to love a woman I've been with, almost like my heart and my mind are scared of it. Or perhaps I don't know how to love anymore."

"What about Bev? You used to love her, didn't you?"

"No, no I liked Beverly. But it wasn't me who loved her, that was all Ben. Ben was the one who was ready to sell his soul to the devil if he could make her smile. I think we all had a crush on Beverly, but Ben was in from the start. I can't even imagine what that must feel like."

That wasn't the full truth. The truth was, Bill knew, that he had only ever come close to imagining what that felt like 2 years ago upon his reunion with Stan. The overwhelming joy and longing he felt after so long without contact. The smile he couldn't help but wear when he walked into that dining room and saw the curly haired man sitting there nervously. In that moment he could imagine, even though he wouldn't allow himself to. 

"Can I ask you somethin, Stan?" Bill whispered softly as he looked up into the other mans eyes, "How did you first meet her?"

Stan smiled, "We danced. It was my cousins wedding and I met her when I bumped into her on the dance floor. She was so stunning and I was so embarrassed, until she said I could make it up to her by dancing to the next slow song with her. I spent the next half hour nervous as ever until that inevitable song..."

Bill pondered this a moment, looking around at the room that still smelt of a woman's perfume and decorated with her taste. A room of an old lover, of a ghostly touch. It was no wonder the other man had hardly been able to sleep when he stayed in a room where he couldn't escape his sorrow. So it was quickly decided as Bill stood up and made his way around to Stan.

"Stan," He said, "Dance with me."

"You're half naked and we have Research to do."

"Dance with me."

The tone of voice was so strong and authoritative that Stanley couldn't help looking up at it. He rolled his eyes, but the smallest increase in his heartbeat made resisting impossible as he found himself taking the other mans hand. As he awkwardly stepped closer, he also became more aware of the fact that the room was warmer. More alive, almost.

The longer they swayed, the less awkward it became and the more comfortable they got. Bill has his hands resting on the other mans lower back, humming softly to themselves. They swayed in the small area, nothing fancy because they didn't need anything more. Stan realized how much he missed human touch, the warmth that Bill radiated, and found himself pulling impossibly closer. Their breaths whispered across each other, Bills on Stan's forehead and Stan's on bill's shoulders.

It reminded Bill of their 5th grade recital when they were forced to do one dance with a classmate. It was just Bill, Stan, Eddie, and Richie back then. Richie, ever the fearful boy, ran for the hills and was nearly held back a year. Eddie nearly had a panic attack when Mary Louise danced with him, mainly because of the large wart on her face that made him think she was a witch. This left Stan and Bill alone without any girls willing to dance, so they were forced to dance with each other.

The name calling was rather harsh for that summer break, but the memory of the dance was something they both secretly clung to until they could no longer remember it. They were as close as they were now, only there was a lot more blushing and awkward eye contact. Bill remembers now that not even Eddie or Richie teased them for it that summer. It made him wonder if there was more behind why not that he originally thought. Either way, he had dreamed of a world where they could do it again. 

"Is this real?" He asked Stan softly.

"I'm not sure," the man responded, his grip harder. "I hope so."

Downstairs Mike sat staring at the mountain of work he would have to do and the contact for his wife on his phone. He knew he should dedicate all his energy and time towards a possible solution, but the nagging feeling that his wife was more important had kept him from doing so. Forcing himself to hit dial, he listened to the ringing on the other side before she answered.

_"Hello?"_

"Hey baby," He said, instantly relieved at the sound of her voice. "Sorry for calling so late, I just missed you."

_"It's alright Suga, I missed you too. How's everything going with the funeral? Is your friend Stan holding up alright?"_

Mikes heart pinched with guilt at the fact that he was lying to her, but forced himself to keep it up for her safety. "The funeral went well, but my friend isn't doing too well. I'm not sure how long he might need me here to help him, Baby, but he doesn't have anyone else."

Another lie hidden behind half truths. He looked behind him at the couple cuddling on the couch as they flipped through their book, shaking his head at his wording again. He wanted so desperately to be honest with the love of his life, to have what Ben and Beverly have. But he knew that it wouldn't be the same and he couldn't risk it.

"_You take all the time you need, I'm keeping the business running smoothly over here. If anything happens, I'll tell you. And if you need me, I'll be on the next flight out. Promise."_

"I know, that's why you're my girl. So damn sexy when you're independent that I can imagine you now. God, I miss you."

_"I love you."_

He smiled at the smile he could hear on her sleepy voice, "I love you too. I'll try and call again in the morning. Goodnight."

Looking to the books of research, he knew that he wasn't going to make that call. Knew that the others, if they were reading, weren't likely going to find anything. Knew that chances are at the end of tonight and the start of tomorrow no progress towards ending their torment and going home was going to be made. It took Mike 10 years of research to find a possible story behind ending It and in the end it didn't work. The ritual was useless. 

The memory of the grave stones reappeared in his eyes when he closed them. The memory of the suffocating dirt trying to flood his lungs as his hands forced their way out. Of the death and decay. All of this motivated him to brushing his feelings aside and opening the largest book, setting off to read and determined to find something. 

Anything.

Beverly rested her head in the crook of Bens shoulders and wrestled with the truth she held. Every time she could work up the confidence to say something, anything, about what she knew it was diminish at the sight of his concentrated studying. The memory of how deep into this fight they already were and how her admitting the truth of her pregnancy would ruin everything.

Then the worry at what the consequences of not saying anything could result in. If she were to lose him without him ever knowing she was pregnant. If the Dybbuk were to somehow know and expose her, making her look like she was keeping a darker secret that it was meant to be. If she were to get hurt and lose the child without ever confirming it's existence to him. Or if she were to die, therefore killing them both, and Ben never know the truth. A part of her reasoned this is exactly why she shouldn't say anything, but that part was selfish.

They'd talked about kids many times, about whether or not they wanted them. They did, even if it wasn't in this moment. She was rather reluctant at first, not thinking she'd be the best fit for motherhood. But when Ben talked about his hopes of fatherhood and when she saw him interacting with children, she realized she didn't need to be the best mother because he was going to be the best father.

"I think you should try and talk to Richie tomorrow," Ben whispered, flipping the page again. "The Dybbuk really messed him up today."

"I could tell, I don't think I've ever seen Richie so quiet before. Looked as if he was the one who was buried alive and dug himself out of a grave. How bad was it?"

"For me and Eddie? It wasn't bad at all. Other than the utter heartbreak we experienced at having to see Richie mentally torn apart by his secret being exposed though childhood projections. God, he was so..."

"Scared?"

"Exposed. It’s like the grave said, all Richie does is pretend. Pretend that he’s not scared, pretend like he’s not depressed, or drunk, or whatever. It’s always something. But there, on the kissing bridge, he was forced to be real for the first time ever.”

Beverly sighed, “I’ll try and talk to him. Richie always did talk to me more than you guys when it came to certain things like this, I suppose. I’m honestly worried about all the boys. Bill looks lost, Mike looks worried, and Stanley hasn’t really slept in god knows how long.”

“What about Eddie?”

“Eddie’s always been a mess, but I think Richie being around will help him fix his own problems. If not, then I don’t know. Like I said, I’m worried about all the boys. You and Eddie included.”

Ben smiles hopelessly, “You don’t gotta worry about me, Bev. So long as I got you and you’re okay, I’ll be just fine.”

Beverly forced herself to smiled and decided that tonight wasn’t the night for any more forced confessions. She could lie just a little bit longer for the sake of the losers, but especially Ben. She could only hope that this wouldn’t take much longer and that nothing bad was going to happen.

If only she knew that dreams and hopes don’t matter to the demons who haunt the living and the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always feedback is welcome and appreciated! Hope you enjoyed.


	6. Counting Sheep To Help You...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update! I was stuck on this chapter for a while and have been crazy busy. I hope you enjoy, although as always it’s a bit crazy and twisted. Feedback is welcome and appreciated.

Sleep.

It was inevitable despite their best efforts of avoiding it. It took nearly a full twenty four hours and multiple pots of coffee but in the end the lure of unconsciousness fell upon each of the losers. Perhaps they only made it so far because it was hard to stay awake when your face is buried in useless books in search of answers that may not exist. Perhaps it's because the monster that lurks in the air of the town forced them into temptation. The truth is that each of the losers had, at one point in their lives, managed to stay up longer than they did this time.

Maybe they were just tired. Tired of fighting invisible demons and the dark sides of their minds. Exhausted of the hopelessness that hung in the air suffocatingly. The truth is, each of them were eventually too tired to figure their heavy eyelids and fell asleep, therefore fell into the trap the Dybbuk had set. It's place of power stems from their most vulnerable, and what's more vulnerable than sleep?

The issue with falling asleep is you don't truly remember when it happens. Don't remember when you stop fighting your eyelids and stopped bobbing your head in favor of letting it fall. You remember something but not the exact moment your brain shuts off and you're left behind the wheel of your subconscious. When your reality mixes with darkness until your dreams become your new temporary truth. Even when you wake up, there's a split second of remembrance of that truth before eventually your brain saves you and it slips away until it's only remains are the residue of possibilities.

They didn't know it at the time but the first one to be pulled under the surface and into the cage of his own mind was **_Mike_**. The mixture of physical toll from the days prior mixed with his emotional guilt of lying about another major event of his life was what could've caused it. In the past he would've never allowed himself to succumb so easily, but it was only a matter of time that he slipped up. In this case, it could be more fatal than the day he didn't notice the Bowers gang behind him before the rock fight.

He found himself lying on a table, though he didn't question how he got there. It's strange how you never seem to question how somethings come to be in dreams. The table beneath the man was cold and unforgiving, pushing harshly against his exposed back. A chill ran over him alongside goosebumps when he became suddenly aware of his own exposed state.

Bright white lights beamed down on him harshly, almost blinding him with its severity. He moved to save his burning brown eyes from the attack only to realize he couldn't move his hands. He did his best to turn his neck, but found his whole body immobile. Suddenly the lights above him were replaced with a mirror, though the brightness of the room remained the same. The sight of what stared back at him was enough to erupt more goosebumps (how could he feel them when he wasn't real?)

His limbs were made of smooth dark brown wood, attached to one another with a bundle of yarn. He didn't know how he knew that it was rich wood, the kind the upper class use for furniture, or how he knew it was heavy. His hair on his head wasn't hair but rather thick black paint, smooth without any resemblance of texture. He tried again to lift his arm and touch it but was met with no movement.

He could see his body, shining with wood shiner, but no matter how hard he tried he found that outside of goosebumps he couldn't feel anything. He looked at his small wooden toes, each connected to the main foot with a string, but couldn't bring himself to wiggle them. He moved to yell, to cry out for help, but then remembered that his mouth wasn't real. It wouldn't open and close because his face was painted on. His eyes and nose and rosy red cheeks were acrylic (perhaps oil) and not real.

What was real if not him?

He heard the clopping of shoes approaching him, somehow the knowledge of the fact the shoes were rich and walking on hardwood interrupted his own fears, before a faceless figure stood over him. At first glance he thought it was a white man but when he 'blinked' it became a black woman, then an Indian man, and so on. He didn't know how he knew their gender or their ethnicity since all he saw was playdoh skin, but he didn't question how he knew either.

The man (woman! No...) grabbed Mike by his strings and suddenly he could feel again. Could feel the light breeze of air across his dangling legs as he was lifted. The curve of his back bending as his hips rose above the rest of him. Suddenly, with the controlling guide of the puppeteer, Mike found himself standing on the surface he previously rested on and realized he'd shrunk. Or perhaps he was never large to begin with.

The puppeteers hand was the size of Mike's body when he was standing on his own two feet again. The chill was gone and when he saw the distant reflection of himself in the glasses of the figureless face he realized he'd been dressed this whole time. His brown body was covered by a black and white suit with a small bow tie below his string neck. He couldn't help but think how odd it was to wear a suit so late at night (or was it morning?). The master seemed to be staring at him through the flesh dimensionless face, making Mike self conscious.

When the figure spoke it had the voice of an old black man, one who had possibly once told the story of a Klansman attack on a bar, and it was paternal in Mikes ears with a shocking nostalgia along side that. It, or now a he, said "A man who no longer lives his truth because he's too afraid to be himself is no man."

Mike couldn't help the disappointment that filled him despite the fact he didn't recall doing anything along those lines, "I'm sorry Pops but I tried my best. The monsters keep hitting back and ain't no coppers are around to help us just like they never had been."

It didn't make sense, what he said. He didn't know why he called the figure Pops, why he would even connect it to his own father. He knew that it wasn't grammatically correct, that he was raised better than to talk that way, and it sounded right in his mind but his painted lips made it lose way. His voice sounded like a toddler trying his best to speak like a grown man.

"You're lying to yourself boy, and you're lying to everyone else. Now get your act together before I've got to wash your mouth of it's dirt," the voice said, now stern and maternal. "Boy you are going to be the death of me...and everyone you love."

"I'm sorry, Momma, I wasn't thinking. I've been running all day from these ghosts and seem to have lost my tail along the way."

He couldn’t begin to question what he could've possibly meant because the voice of one Bill Denbrough, young and intelligent, came from the figured nonexistent mouth, "Wh-What did you see in the de-de-dead lights, Mikey? What did the smoke infect you with that made you kill u-us?"

"I swear I didn't look, Big Bill, you gotta believe me. I stayed Just like I said I would, just like I promised, and Derry bit me with it's touch of death. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt, Billy."

The figure continued to jerk him about, forcing him into conversations with faceless men and woman without any nerves to escape. There were moments in between each prisoned conversation with the figure that he would question where he was and how he knew what they were saying when it wasn't making any sense. Each time he began to understand who he was talking to or what it was about he was pulled back and just like a dream he forgot. Left alone to the mercy of voices and strings.

The next one who was dragged under reality and back into the dark pits of endless sleep was **_Beverly_** who had curled up against her boyfriends side. She had long since given up on re-reading her book with her mind being elsewhere. She'd been thinking of the possibilities of having a baby could bring when her mind went numb and she fell asleep.

She was in a hospital room that had an odd blue hue despite the fact there were no visible lights. She could feel thick sweat coating her tired body and the rips in her core from pushing. She could hear the wails of a baby, scratchy and loud, from somewhere nearby but there was nobody in sight. Blood was dripping off the edge of the bed where the doctor had propped her legs open. Everything was heated and sticky and loud, god the cries were so loud.

Then, when she went to ask a question, she realized those cries weren't coming from her baby. They were ripping through her throat from her lungs and into the air. The cries were so strong and wet that it was perfectly reflecting on those of a newborn baby. She slapped her hand over her mouth only for the crying to come from her blood pooled on the floor. When she leaned over the edge to puke she found herself on all fours, limbs small and stubby.

Beverly was crawling across a soft brown carpet in an impossibly large room, small chubby hands gripping the fabric tightly. She tried to stand but her short legs buckled under the weight of the rest of her body and she was sent crashing. She turned herself over onto her back, a turtle stuck upside down, and became lost in the dangling charms above her crib. She was so entranced that she didn't even realize the sudden change in location.

Three dangling stuffed sheep twirled slowly above her head, rising and falling like a carousel. She tried to reach them from where she laid but couldn't, so she moved to stand. Using the crib railing for support she slowly rises to her feet and stretched as far as her tiny body would allow. Unfortunately she reached too far and found herself stumbling forward onto cold hard concrete, the sheep lost in her memory forever though the ghost feeling of soft fabric still lingered on the tips of her fingers.

Fingers that held a pregnancy test the size of a diaper. The test was cold and plain white, the only color being the two long red strips to confirm a positive reading. The longer she allowed herself to stare hauntingly at the affirmative result the larger the test became until it was the size of a child. She cradled it in her arms gently, afraid that dropping it would hurt it.

The two red stripped began to leak and suddenly all that she held in her arms was a puddle of blood in the shape of a newborn baby, the distant cry lingering on its cold dead lips.

**_Bill_** had fallen asleep when Stanley had excused himself to take a shower after having spilt his old coffee on his sweatpants. Bill had laid back, wishing that he was called here under different circumstances, and began thinking about whatever his imagination would bring up. About potential endings to the numerous stories he had started or new beginnings to stories he hadn’t realized he wanted to start.

He was sitting in the waiting area of the local police station, his hands holding the different paperwork needed to file a missing persons report. Each one he had managed to fill out with shaking hands, writing the names of his best friends in each slot. He’d brought the papers here after they’d all been gone the full twenty-four hours. Over that wait he had made flyers, which sat beside him .

In front of him as he stapled the hundredth one to the lamppost and flipped through to pull out the next person. The next missing face. Each lamppost he stapled one for each of his friends, a recent photo with their names and his contact information in case someone had known something. Nobody ever had, because if they did they would’ve said something by now. It’s been months since any of his old gang was last seen or heard of and weeks since the police stopped caring.

Each flyer was a different color, the favorite color of that person, almost as if he believed they’d find themselves if they were drawn to it. Yellow for Mike Hanlon, Red for Beverly Marsh, Pink for Ben Hanscom, Green for Richie Tozier, Blue for Stanley, and Orange for Eddie Kasprak. The same colors they’d loved since Derry and childhood, almost a reminder that some things truly never change.

Everyday when the sun rose he was out on the streets of some city, maybe New York or Settle or Derry, and he was stapling new flyers. He’d stay out there until the memory of the light was long forgotten and the only reason for going home was the unsettling amount of random men and women offering him a ‘good time’. The cycle continued for months, maybe years, until the once handsome man was buried under dark circles and wild homeless red hair. He’d walked so often that the soles of his shoes wore down to the point that his bare feet were what met the pavement.

Then one day he heard their pleas for help echoing out of the water drain next to him. He froze, looking down that the all too familiar drain, before getting on his hands and knees to get a better understanding. To clarify that it truly was his friends he heard and not just the voices of them that he remembers in his head.

“Bill! Bill, It got us!” A strangled Stanley cried.

“Billy!” Screamed Beverly, “He’s hurting me please, you gotta save me Bill.”

“It hurts everywhere, Big Bill...I told you that you don’t always—“ Richie was cut off by his own groans of pain.

“Wait, come back! Come back Bill, you can’t leave us,“ called Mike.

“I tried to be strong for you, Billy, please don’t be mad at me...”

That one was Eddie. The screams and calls for help grew louder and louder, when he reopened his eyes he found himself deep under Neibolt drive where It lived. The lair that crumbled along with the beast from their childhood. His eyes danced around the wreckage surrounding him before he found himself looking up and freezing at the sight.

The voices of his friends were still echoing in the cave but their bodies floated high under the influence of the dead lights. Their skin was grey with death and their eyes milky due to their souls being feasted upon. He screamed angrily, trying to drown out their words, and jumped with all his might to try and reach at least one of them. His fingertips skimmed Mikes shoelaces and then Richie’s sneakers, but in the end he wasn’t enough.

Wasn’t Big enough (there was Richie again, laughing out in gurgled pain as he asked his Big Bill to give them a helping hand). Wasn’t strong or fast or braver enough. He wasn’t the hero of their story like they always painted him out to be. Then, when he lost the energy to continue trying to reach them, he felt his own body begin to float. He floated higher and higher, relishing the feeling of his pain leaving, until his eyes were captured by the hypnotic three lights of It.

The last voice he heard was his own as it whispered, “You’ll float too.”

_**Eddie**_ would have killed Richie for being in the kitchen, therefore leaving him alone, if he wasn’t asleep. He knew that allowing himself that moment of rest against the guest room bed would be a mistake. If his younger self had been here when it happened he was sure he would’ve kicked his own ass for being so idiotic. As it were, Richie was still gone and Eddie was still dumb and younger versions of themselves were trapped in Derry circa the 80s.

He was sitting on the bed of the doctors room, waiting patiently for the white lab coat wearing man to walk through the closed light wooden door. The white paper beneath his bare legs crunches and crinkled everytime he restlessly moved, annoying him as always. He was wearing the thin hospital gown, which never left much to the imagination, and was overtly aware of how warm the room was.

The sound of the door clicking open had him turning, his eyes now staring up at the black and white dome covering his body. He was laying as still as possible, per the doctors orders, and trying to drown out the loud banging noise from the MRI. The banging reminded him of that week in the summer going into 3rd grade when he found two aluminum bats in the burrow and kept banging them together until Stanley stole them one day and threw them in grey water. He pouted for days until Richie caved and gave him his old wooden bat.

When he blinked again the sound was replaced by young boys laughs as he stood on the home base mat of their makeshift baseball field from when they were younger. That ratty wooden bat rested heavily in his hand as he stood in a ready stance for the pitcher. He didn’t know how he knew that it was Richie, perhaps it’s because the glare of the sunlight hitting thick lenses was all too familiar, but he knew it. He couldn’t help but smile as he swung just in time to hit the white baseball and have it flying.

He moved to run like they all shouted for him to but his feet became stuck to the ground. He looked down and found that he was sitting in an old wheel chair, legs strapped in place so they wouldn’t move, and in a nursing home. It smelt of death and old people. That was when he noticed that his skin was wrinkled and sagging off his bones as if trying to melt off.

Or melt to. His sagging skin molded around the chair and stuck to it like gum. He moved his old wrinkled lips to cry out for help since he could feel his heart lagging and his lungs collapsing, but found he was so old he couldn’t speak. A nurse came in and stood in front of him to watch as he wilted away into dust and bone, smiling down at him before lifting that old baseball bat and slamming it down into his head.

Then everything went black and Eddie Kaspbrak died at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a sort of part 1, so next we will look into the nightmares (or are they?) for Ben, Stan, and Richie.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, more to come soon! Also I know literally nothing about 2000s technology since I was born in 2001, but I wanted this to be based off Mid!20s Losers. So just accept that this world is more technologically advanced that it should be.
> 
> As always feedback is welcome and appreciated! -K


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